Good Fences
by Airan's Enigma
Summary: Django Riverdeep has always had his eyes set on a place where he could settle with his wife and child in safety, but when an injured vermin arrives at his doorstep with the same intentions, tension arises between the two parties over control of the land and their own racial ties. Can the two get over their differences, or do good fences indeed make good neighbors?
1. A Place to Call Our Own

**AN: Hello all, Airan's Enigma here, just wanting to go ahead and thank you for clicking and reading this story of mine. I've actually been off this site for a while, leaving my other fanfic _"Chess" _to collect dust while I've off been writing other things and participating in some of the survivor contests that have been put up on the site, but this story idea has been floating in my head for a while now and I've been dying to finally put it on paper and get some feedback on it, and I figured that this site was the best to do it on. So, thank you very much for reading and if you have the time, drop a review or two, it'd be greatly appreciated.**

_**FOREWARNING: **_**This story is rated PG-13 for some language (not excessive), violence, and some adult themes, so if you're not keen on those things, I apologize in advance.**

**Anyways, without further ado:**

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**Good Fences**

-Chapter One: A Place to Call Our Own-

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_For my father, whom I never let read my writing because I was too embarrassed to show him, and to whom I'll now never get the chance._

Strong was nearly three seasons old when his father, Django Riverdeep, remembered the place his mother, Strong's grandmother, would take him every summer after his father had died. Though she herself had passed away some ten seasons ago, the otter could remember it just as easily as he could remember her face. It was a small lake that sprouted from an almost invisible stream, a miniscule niche that broke off from the base of the River Moss and winded its way nearly a day's march until it deposited itself into its body where a natural blue hole awaited. It was a tranquil spot, seemingly undisturbed by anybeast, with glassy water that hosted a varietyof freshwater specimen like trout, grayling, and bass, and even some shrimp nestled in the reeds and shallows. Even as an adult today, Django could remember himself as a child, urging his mother to 'watch this' as he leapt from the top of the rough Cliffside of the lake's southwestern rim and landed in a perfect dive in the water below, though his mother practically screamed for him not to. However when he emerged from the depths with a smile on his maw, no matter how furious she was, he always noticed she grinned as well. Smiles were hard to come by in those days.

"Do you remember this place?" she would always say when they arrived."Your father found it the day before you were born, hidden away behind clusters and clusters of forest and trees. It's where I had you. You know, I don't think anybeast else has ever found it, this place. It's always been our secret little hideaway; I guess you could say it belongs to us, that it's our place."

Our place.

It had taken him nearly a season to find it again, but Django Riverdeep once again stood in the shallows of the lake, his webbed footpaws settled deep in the warm mud underneath. He was a burly otter, barrel-chested and with toned muscles that carved their way through his arms and legs, a lightweight jerkin and barkcloth vest draped over his broad shoulders. He adjusted the haversack and travel bag he wore on his back, blinking his green-grey eyes twice just to make sure the crystal-clear water he was standing in was actually real.

It had seen better days, he knew. The water looked as if it had grown shallower over the seasons, a detail he could tell by the slight slope he had had to descend to reach the waterline. It was only a minute detail though, still spanning nearly an eighth of a mile to the other side and teeming with the same life as it always had. He even noticed a few herbs and berry bushes dotted around the landscape. Looking over it like this, he realized now why it seemed to have never been disturbed. The trees and surrounding forest formed what looked like a natural barrier around the alcove, shielding it from the eyesight of most everybeast who wasn't a bird or standing atop one of the cliffs on the nearby plateaus that he could see some many miles away above the treetops, the same way he had found the lake again himself.

It was beautiful, the food was plentiful, and, most importantly of all, it was nearly invisible.

Django smiled, turning on his heel and lifting his arms in a display of showing what lay before him. "What d' ya think, Lorena?"

His wife, Lorena, stared over the lake and its surroundings from where she stood behind him with a bemused look in her crystal-blue eyes as if what she was seeing didn't actually exist, her green dress and apron fluttering softly with the spring breeze.

Where Django was brawny, Lorena was his opposite. She was average in height with lean, delicate looking limbs and a careful, well-groomed look to her. She looked like the type of beast to shriek at the sight of a spider or shrink away from a drop of cold rain, though her husband knew better than that. In reality, her stubbornness would lead to her standing in the freezing rain, chiding it just because it dared interrupt her peaceful afternoon and the spider would be smacked away with one of Django's boots without a moment's hesitation all while saying 'I've seen worse.' And it was true. Her fierce temper and stalwart resolve, united with her careful nature and gentleness reminded him of Redwall's badger mothers, and though he knew she wasn't qualified for that position, her qualities had given her an almost natural talent for healing the sick and injured, landing her a position as Redwall's previous infirmary keeper. And over the seasons, her delicate paws had cured flu after flu, sewn thousands of stitches, mended hundreds of broken bones, saved beasts lives, and had some slip between her claws, and yet still held fast through it all. A mere spider was nothing.

It was part of her steadfastness that made finding a place where their family could settle a challenge. Every place he found was never good enough, as she was always convinced it wasn't safe enough, but here, with its invisibility and shield of trees, Django knew what she would say by just the sparkles in her eyes. "It's perfect."

"HAHA! I knew ya'd love it!" Django practically shouted, darting forward suddenly and grabbing Lorena around the waist, pulling her into a quick kiss. When Lorena pulled away after some mere seconds, he glanced over his wife's shoulders. "An' what about you, lad?" he said to the wide eyed otter Dibbun clutching the back of his mother's skirt with one paw and the strap of his tiny satchel with the other.

Strong Riverdeep had been born and, so far, raised within the safety and confine of Redwall, and, not yet used to the noises of the night and the thought of not having four rosy-hued walls surrounding him, he had developed a habit of hiding behind his mother's skirts. The Dibbun, closing in on his fourth season, stared back at him with the same crystal blue eyes that belonged to his mother. Though he had his mother's eyes, Django could already see a few of his own traits in his son as well: the same balled shoulders that would grow broader and broader every day and an almost absurdly long rudder that dragged behind him like one of his playthings.

Strong nodded, burying his face back into the folds of Lorena's dress. "I's biyootiful," he mumbled.

"I's biyootiful?" Django repeated. "Ya ain't even seen it yet, hidin' back there."

"Django, I don't think…" Lorena tried to say.

"Relax, dear, I know what I'm doin'," he replied. Much to Strong's protest, the otter leaned over and scooped him into his arms, carrying him kicking and screaming to the shallows of the lake. He silenced his son with a single glance and held him carefully against his chest. "See, what's all that cryin' about, huh? Ain't no reason t' be that scared. Now, now that ya've actually seen it, what do ya think?"

Strong wiped his eyes with his sleeve and glanced around him. "I's bigger den da one in Wed'all," was his first observation.

"Course it is. That one was just a tiny pond. Ain't nothin' compared to this." With that, Django sat his son on his footpaws in the shallows. "How about ya go swim around a bit, see how deep ya can go?"

"Django…"

He ignored her, urging Strong onward.

"But what if dere's a monster or somethin' in dere dat wants t' eat me?" he asked.

Django scratched his head. "And what could possibly make ya think that?"

"Well, dat's what dey told us in da abbey," Strong explained. "Dat dere was a monster in the pond dat would gobble us up if we swam in it."

His father rolled his eyes. "Bah, they just told ya that so they wouldn't have to yell at ya every second to not swim in it." He knelt down to Strong's level, who still didn't look convinced. "What's yer name?" he asked.

"Stwong Wiverdeep."

Django nodded. "Aye, that's right. And do ya know why yer named that?"

"My tail."

He nodded again. "Aye, because 'The Riverdeeps are as proud and strong as their tails are long.' That's what my mother an' father always said to me and it's what I named ya after. And ya know why? Because yer rudder's so long I could wrap it around yer neck like a scarf, so ya must be a pretty strong otter right?"

"An' pwoud," he added.

"And proud too," Django corrected himself. "So, if ya see some scary monster, ya show him what a Riverdeep is made of. Got it?"

Strong nodded and tentatively stepped deeper into the water, his eyes still staring at the lake's surface as if it would swallow him whole. And then, without another moment's hesitation, he began splashing through it as he ran to deeper water with his satchel trailing behind him in his wake, his webbed footpaws waiting for the moment when they'd feel no ground beneath them.

"Strong, wait!" Lorena called, but it was too late. His tiny head dipped beneath the surface and was lost to sight. She sighed.

"What is it?" Django asked, a smile still plastered on his face.

"Oh, nothing really. He still had on his satchel is all," his wife explained. "All of his clothes are in it, so if he loses it… And even if he doesn't, they're going to take a lifetime to dry."

He waved off her complaints with a paw. "Ah, let him be. We've got more important things to worry about."

"Hmm, and what's that?" Lorena said.

"Well, for one, we'll be needin' a place t' live. Houses don't make themselves," he answered. "And I want a big one, with plenty o' room for me an' you an' Strong, maybe a spare bedroom for yer family if they decide t' visit one summer. Perhaps a kitchen the size of Redwall's?"

Lorena was amused at the notion. "Oh, yes. And a moat and battlements. Let's just build our own Redwall, why don't we? And we can share between the three of us."

"Anything for you, my dear." Django gave a theatrical bow. "I only wish to make ya happy."

"Django," Lorena said patiently, "you should know by now it doesn't matter whether we're in a castle or in a shack, so long as I'm with you and Strong, it'll be a home to me and I'll be happy."

"But I don't want my wife and son to live in a shack," he argued. "I want them in a grand castle where they've got room to live and grow. A place where they're safe and that they can remember when they get older. A place to call our own."

"Castles take a long time to build," Lorena replied. His wife smiled and stepped forward, kissing him lightly on the cheek. She whispered softly into his ear, "So, do you know what I suggest?"

"What's that?"

"That you better get to work."

Django laughed just as tiny splash erupted from behind him, a brown, wet mass appearing by his side and tugging at his arm. His wife quickly retrieved the satchel from Strong's back, letting out a sigh of relief. He turned to his son. "What is it, Strong? Did ya find the lake monster?"

Strong shook his head furiously. "No, but I found somethin' diffewent. Dere's a big cave in that cliff I want ya t' see. Come on!" He tugged at his father's arm again.

Django remembered the underwater cave he had explored when he was a child. It was hidden nearly two taillengths beneath the lake's surface, carving a tunnel into the Cliffside that stretched for another few yards and opened into a small grotto, hidden from the world. He turned to his wife and smiled. "Maybe I'll start tomorrow." He pawed over his haversack and travel bag into her waiting arms.

"Tomorrow then," Lorena replied, throwing them over her shoulder. She waved her paw, urging them on. "Go, I'll have a warm fire ready when you get back."

"Thank ya dear, we'll need it." Django nudged Strong on the shoulder. "What are ya waitin' for, lad, lead the way."

His son nodded and disappeared once more under the surface. Django gave Lorena a reassuring smile and turned back to the lake.

Before he could disappear along with their son, Lorena stopped her husband with a touch to his shoulder. "And Django? You're sure this place is safe, that we won't be bothered here?"

"Ya said yourself that it was perfect," Django answered his wife. He turned to face her. "I'm as sure as the tides, dear. This place is invisible, nobeast will ever find it. An' if they do, I won't let them touch a hair on you or Strong's head. Trust me."

"Come on, Da'!" Strong shouted, his head barely peeking over the surface of the water some distance away.

"Aye, I'm comin', lad! Lead on," his father answered his call.

The paw left his shoulder. "I do."

And with that, Django dove beneath the surface after his son, not knowing how wrong he was.

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**Pretty Fluffy chapter for the first one, but I promise it will get more interesting in the next few updates, which should be in about a week. Thanks again for reading, and if you have the time, feel free to leave a review. :)**


	2. Dying Embers

**AN: Thanks everyone for reading, and special thanks to Thomas the Traveler, Radio Free Death, Nashog, Blackish, Saraa Luna, and Professor-Evans for reviewing the last chapter. It means a lot to get that many reviews for my first chapter, so thank you all very much.**

**Professor-Evans: What gave you that idea? O.o**

**In this week's chapter you're all going to meet our vermin characters. So, without further ado:**

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**Good Fences**

-Chapter Two: Dying Embers-

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**...Winter...**

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_Thwack._

The arrow embedded itself into the target, rather wobbly, but straight. The fox stole a glance at it before shutting his eyes in concentration and drawing his bowstring back to his chin.

He cringed from the pain.

It had taken Rederick Flamepaw nearly two days to wake up, but when the fox finally woke, he had wished the arrow had killed him. It had been an ambush, a surprise attack from a rival horde, and though he was caught off guard, he had been in his element, letting loose arrow after arrow into the hearts, necks, and eye sockets of anybeast he'd known to be an enemy. He had been invincible, untouchable, his arrows raining death over his foes and turning the snow beneath his footpaws a deep red. And then he changed his position, and _it _had come.

He wished he was dead. If only to be spared the agony and the humiliation he had endured afterwards.

When Rederick woke after an injury, he usually knew what to expect the moment his amber eyes flickered open: Konin looming over him with Helk perched on her lap, relief washing over her face before she inevitably tried to embrace him. It was a pain-filled exercise, usually bringing forth whatever aches and pains he could expect for the next days or weeks until he was recovered. But no matter how much it hurt, the fox would never tell her to stop, even when Helk tried to join in with his carelesspaws and rough touch. Pain was something he could bear, it was normal. This was not.

The moment Konin's paws had touched his right shoulder; it felt as if he had been shot by a second arrow. And every second she had held on, was another and another and another. It had taken all of his strength to endure it for even a few moments, to stifle back the urge to do what he thought to be unthinkable and then…

_Thwack._

He had pushed her off of him.

Rederick stared at the red circle that loomed some ten taillengths ahead of him marking the center of the targets he had set up near his and Konin's tent. Though he took no pride in it, the fox had always been an able wood carver and carpenter, sometimes fastening together small furniture or wooden sculptures to sell to some hordebeast whenever he needed favors or something in return. The targets themselves were just simple things he had furnished from the trunk of a fallen willow he had found one morning on a patrol, polished with oils and beeswax until they shone as brightly as the tips of his arrows. Then he had taken one of his mate's old dresses and spread them over the target's flat surface, painting a red circle in the fabric's very center. He had no need for any other rings or colors, the arrow always hit the bulls-eye.

Or at least it had.

Rederick took a deep breath, holding back his bowstring as he took aim. Agony pulsed through his body at the same speed of his ever-increasing heart rate. He bore through it, his ever watchful eyes - the trained instruments of a seasoned archer- straying from the red circle for a mere moment to take in the snowflakes falling in the air and blanketing the ground in white, the dark clouds above drifting lazily with them, Helk pulling back his own bowstring with the arrow notched incorrectly, and the penetrating stares of the beasts around him, all waiting to watch him shoot off the arrow and see if the rumors were true and the great, invincible Rederick Flamepaw's fire had indeed been extinguished.

_Thwack._

A shot of pain throbbed through his body.

He let the arrow fly.

_Zzziip! Thwick._

Rederick stared at his handiwork and cursed. The shaft had embedded itself along with the arrows that had missed the target entirely and landed point down in the snow some few taillengths behind it. The few that had actually hit the mark lay on the outer edge, away from the red bulls-eye and rooted in odd and most-certainly not deadly angles. The fox panted and dropped his bow in the snow.

_Thwack._

Rederick's ears perked at the noise and he glanced to his left where Helk, his son, stood, struggling to get a new arrow notched onto the string of his kit-sized bow to replace the one he had just fired. His father couldn't help but look over to where the fox kit's target was, Rederick's eyes fixing on the six arrows embedded in its surface and surrounding his red circle. They were far from perfect and he was obviously having a lucky day- Helk was only close to being six seasons old and his bow was nearly as big as he was after all- but they were straight.

Helk looked at him expectantly. "Did I do good?" he asked. "I got four inna row that time."

Rederick glanced back to his crooked, erroneous shots. Five he counted in the target, eleven on the ground underneath. "Aye," was all he said.

He had been a proficient archer for nearly his entire life, training his eyes and ears to detect everything, so it wasn't a feat for Rederick to catch the muffled chuckling and comments of the beasts in the gathered crowd as they dispersed.

"'Is kid shoots straighter 'an 'im. Looks like the flame's lost 'is spark, heh."

"Shame, at least 'e did it savin' ol' Greyear. Good t' go out with some dignity, right?"

"How long do ya think 'e'll last?"

And then they were gone, the distance making it impossible to hear any more. Rederick picked up his bow and grabbed an arrow from his quiver. He notched it into the bowstring and pulled it taut, clenching his teeth against the anticipatable pain. The fox let the shaft fly…

…and it promptly rooted itself in the very edge of the target.

Rederick's claws closed around the bow's handle, constricting it like a snake and growing tighter until he was afraid it might shatter.

"Yer holdin' that awfully tight, Red," a voice came from behind him. Rederick turned slowly, mostly in an attempt to minimize anything he might feel in his shoulder, and blinked at the newcomer. It was a fox like himself, greying with age and bearing a set of odd silver tipped ears instead of the usual black. "Wouldn't want those pretty pictures t' go t' waste, would ya?"

He glanced to the designs he had carved into his bow on some lazy afternoon depicting the wings and feathers of some great bird, their ends frayed by a smoldering fire. It certainly described him. "Here t' mock me like the rest, Greyear?" the archer scowled.

Alnin Greyear was the leader of the small horde-if you could even call it that- which Rederick called home and, though he was growing almost as silver as his ears with age, could be called the most feared member of their trifling little army. The older fox was built as a natural berserker, broad-shouldered and barrel-chested; his limbs made up of raw muscle and sinew and riddled with countless scars of battle. He had always preferred the front lines of a battle, the horde leader usually said, the clash of steel, the smell of blood flying through his nostrils, was like a stupor to him and beasts dropped before him like flies. With his sheer brawn, charismatic personality, and skill in the front lines it was a wonder their horde was so trifling.

A one-pawed battleaxe hung from the horde leader's belt, polished enough that Rederick could see his own reflection in its blade. He blinked and, mostly out of habit, brushed his "lucky" right paw over his eyes and black ears in some attempt of grooming himself. Similar to Alnin's silver tipped ears, the fur of his right paw was orange in color and source to his surname: Flamepaw, and, according to the campfire stories of the horde, was the reason he was such a good marksman, though he always wondered how this made any sense. Magic or a seer's blessing was typically what the horde said was the cause, but he shrugged it off. It was an orange furred paw, titular, but unimportant.

As if it was licked by his paw's flame, pain shot through his shoulder once again causing it to stiffen and force Rederick to drop his arm back to his side.

If Alnin had noticed, he was terrible at trying not to show it. He gave the archer an attempt at a sympathetic smile and made to throw his arm around the younger fox's shoulder but stopped himself short, to Rederick's relief. "Let's go fer a walk, Red, there's a lot t' talk about," the chieftain said, turning to leave.

He had noticed.

"Like what?" Rederick questioned, stopping the elder fox in his tracks in search for an answer.

"Well, a lot o' things, Flamepaw," Alnin answered, turning around to face the archer once more. "The way ya saved me from that arrow, yer injury, my daughter an' yer son, an', most importantly, yer future."

"Helk, go inside the tent," Rederick commanded his son, his eyes never straying from the greying fox in front of him. His sensitive ears twitched at the sound of the child's footpaws scuffling through the cold snow as he hurriedly scooped up his bow and fallen arrows and did as he was told. When the fox kit had disappeared, the archer spoke once more. "What d' you mean, 'my future'?"

"Listen, Rederick," the elder fox started, his eyes betraying a sense of worry to the younger vulpine, "I've seen ya get wounded before, but that arrow, that ain't normal. Look at ya, mate, yer barely able t' lift yer arm, let alone fire an arrow. Hellgates, Helk is hittin' the target more 'an you are."

"What're you suggesting, Greyear, that I'm not fit t' be on the back lines anymore?" the fox snapped at his superior. "I can still shoot just fine; I just need t' recuperate for another day or two. It's an injury, injuries heal."

"An' what if it doesn't?"

"It will."

"Then fire an arrow," the grey fox demanded him. "Fire an arrow an' prove ye've still got what it takes t' be in this horde. Show me yer recoverin', because from what it looks like, yer not gettin' better at all, yer gettin' worse. I mean, yer six-season old whelp is shootin' like a bloody marksmen compared t' yer shots. Maybe I should have _'im_ take yer spot."

"Shut up, I bloody well know how he's firing! Don't compare me t' a child, Greyear, because if it wasn't for me jumping in front of that arrow, you'd be dead right now!" Rederick shouted, his claws digging into the polished wood of his bow.

"Jumpin' in front of that arrow? Is that what yer havin' t' tell yerself t' keep yer pride? It looked a lot different from my angle," Alnin retorted. "Does Konin know what really happened?"

"Shut up," the archer snarled, his ears falling flat to his skull. "Why are you even telling me this? It's not like I can leave anyway. Remember last season when Spitbreath got 'is leg cut off? Scum couldn't even walk an' you wouldn't let 'im leave the horde. Beast was slain two nights later during an ambush because he was the only one who couldn't run away."

Alnin sighed, his silver-tipped ears twitching to ward off some insect. "Rederick, ye've always been one o' my favorites, ever since yer dad brought ya here. Ye've been one o' the few beasts who I could trust t' always watch my back when I needed it lest some riverdog or shrew snuck up behind me." He kicked at something in the winter snow. "I wouldn't have let ya have my daughter if I hadn't liked ya. And I'm not about t' break her little heart by lettin' ya get killed just because yer too stubborn t' give up."

"Konin's not the type to grieve. She'll move on, just like any other female who's lost their mate."

"Red, ya know that ain't true." There was a pause, the only sound being the winter wind bristling through the two foxes' fur. "Think o' yer mate. Think o' yer son. Ye'd just die an' leave 'im?"

"Konin and Helk would still have you." Rederick turned back to the targets. "I'm staying." He pulled an arrow from his quiver, tensing his muscles as he notched the projectile onto the string of his bow. He pulled the string back, his face contorting in pain at the muscle tension.

"I'll make ya a deal, Rederick," Alnin said before the archer could release his arrow. "Fire that arrow. You can stay if ya hit the red circle."

The archer nodded, his shoulder burning in agony.

"An' if ya miss, ya leave."

"No."

"Then I'll tell her an' the camp everything, what really happened that night," Alnin said. "Yer choice. Hit the red circle an' stay. Stay an' have Konin an' the whole camp know everythin' about how ya really saved me. Or leave with yer dignity."

"I'll hit the bulls-eye."

Rederick watched the falling snow carefully, how it fell through the air and the direction it blew in. It was a simple shot, a red target in a field of white. He took a breath and aimed. Alnin continued watching, his piercing, gold eyes seeming to stare straight through the archer. Somewhere, Rederick thought he heard somebeast chuckle.

He let the arrow fly.

**-.-.- -.-.- -.-.-**

Helk had always been slow. The few times Rederick had allowed his son to accompany him on hunting trips through the Mossflower woodlands, the whelp had always lagged behind, too busy staring at the trees and flowers to properly stick behind his father and search for woodpigeon and their eggs. It typically wasn't until the archer threatened to take a cane to his hide that Helk would actually move relatively quickly, and even then he still didn't have the agility his father had, nor the silence in which his footpaws carried him across the fallen leaves and undergrowth. Even now, during their current predicament, the fox kit had been ambling gradually behind him through the snowy ground, seeming to be in no rush as he inspected anything he saw that was interesting to his curious eyes.

"Where are we goin'?" Helk asked for the fourth time that day, his wide eyes examining a hollow in a tree's trunk.

"I ain't got time for this," Rederick muttered, yanking his child by the scruff of his neck with his left paw into the air and tossing him roughly in front of him. "Get moving. I already told you two days ago we were leaving. I don't know where we're going yet, probably a new horde."

"But why?" Helk asked, getting to his footpaws and brushing off his ragged, brown tunic. "Why did we 'ave t' leave?"

"Say one more word, Helk," his father warned, "and I'll make you wish you didn't have a mouth t' say it with. Get up front and get moving. If I lose sight of you for so much as a second…"

Helk ran forward before Rederick could finish, his tiny quiver of arrows bouncing up and down with each of his pawsteps as he scurried away to take his spot at his mother's side. The vixen nudged her son, nodding to where one of the projectiles had fallen out of the quiver in his haste and onto the white ground.

Konin gave her mate a half-hearted smile, her amber eyes sparkling like gold in the faded sunlight that filtered through the canopy of gnarled limbs and branches above their heads. The vixen was similar in build to Rederick, lithe and tall, made for agility and quick movements rather than brute strength that best suited her father. Of course, neither strength nor endurance was currently possible with her present condition: a very slight protrusion that erected from her belly and made to push through the fabric of her lavender dress just enough for everybeast to see. She pulled her black coat tighter around her vulnerable body, her belt, carrying two decorative daggers with black hilts, making a distinct [i]chink[/i] with the movement. Her silver- tipped ears, one of the few traits she and Helk had inherited from her father, twitched at the cold feeling of a fallen flake of snow.

Rederick bent over to retrieve Helk's fallen arrow, his shoulder burning in agony at the motion. He put the projectile back into his son's quiver, blinking his eyes rapidly to get over the pain.

"How are you faring?" Rederick asked her. He nodded to her midsection. "We can stop if we need t', Helk's certainly moving slow enough today."

"I'm fine. I'm pregnant, not crippled," Konin replied, her voice as soft as the snow beneath their footpaws. "I should be the one askin' ya that." At her mate's silence, the vixen continued. "Ya said we were goin' t' look for a new horde? When did ya get that idea?"

"Yesterday. Do you object?"

"You're too hurt t' even fire an arrow straight, Rederick. No horde will take ya, they'll just send ya away until one decides t' slaughter ya," the vixen answered, "and then they'll take me an' Helk an' do the same."

"Well that's our only shot, Konin. Your father chose a great time t' cast me away: the middle o' winter, with a pregnant mate, an' a kit who can barely walk by 'imself. Anything else is impossible. Why'd you come anyway, Konin?" Rederick questioned, helping his mate over a fallen log before grabbing Helk and doing the same. "You could have stayed in your father's camp, you and Helk. I had t' leave, not you."

"I'd follow ya anywhere, Rederick, you're my mate," was her answer.

"So, we keep walking then," the fox declared, adjusting his haversack and quiver straps to his left shoulder instead of his usual right.

Konin stopped suddenly, her eyes darting to a shrub that had had one of its limbs broken off. She stooped down carefully, her paw hovering over the trunk of a tree for support as she looked through the snow.

"What is it?" Helk asked, tugging her sleeve.

Rederick looked down to where she was knelt, noticing the tracks that went through the snow, seeming to be from a single beast. When she gave him a nod, he took her paw in his and helped her back to her footpaws.

"Riverdogs?" the archer asked.

"Shrew," Konin corrected him. "Riverdogs are too cheery in their troops, more chaotic, they leave evidence o' their paths everywhere so they're easy t' track. Shrews are more disciplined, they walk single-file, try t' walk on each other's paw prints, but occasionally they make mistakes." She nodded to the broken shrub.

Konin's eyesight rivaled his own, as did her tracking abilities.

"Where are dey goin'?" Helk asked innocently.

"Redwall most likely. Shrews typically take their longboats an' migrate there this time o' year t' escape the cold," she explained. "They find less turbulent backstreams t' paddle up in the winter an' get as close t' that cursed place afore takin' their longboats an' moving on shore."

"There's a river nearby then?"

"Aye."

"Good. It'll be easier t' find a horde if we follow it," Rederick said, beginning to head in the opposite direction that the tracks headed towards.

"Rederick," Konin said, stopping him with a touch to his shoulder. He tensed at the touch and her paw instantly dropped back to her side. "Why d' ya have such a death wish? Yer only gonna get killed if ya go that way."

He paused. "I don't have a death wish," the fox answered her. "What I do have is an injured shoulder that's gotten me kicked out o' your no-good father's horde, a mate who's pregnant who, soon, will be able t' barely stand let alone walk, an'…" He looked around, not seeing Helk anywhere, "a bloody whelp who doesn't ever do as 'e's damn well told!" The fox snapped off a thin, low hanging branch from a nearby tree and shook off the excess snow that covered it, revealing some of the stickly limbs that branched off of it. He gave it an experimental swing, satisfied it wouldn't snap, and turned to Konin. "Give me one o' your knives, I'd prefer 'e not bleed when I beat 'is little tail in."

Konin passed him the blade. "Don't hit 'im too hard."

"I'll hit 'im as hard as I please," he replied, cutting the bark and excess limbs off of his makeshift switch. "He'll learn t' stop wandering off eventually."

"Don't hit 'im hard enough that ya hurt yourself, Rederick," she reiterated. "Ya keep pushin' yourself too hard."

"I'll hit 'im as hard as I please," Rederick repeated. He stopped his knifework and glanced to the sky. A lone woodpigeon was nestled in the branches above, its tawny feathers rustled in an attempt to shield itself from the chilled wind. "Are we out of food?"

"Aye," she answered. "Give me your bow. I don't need ya t' shoot for me, not with how your shoulder is."

Rederick pulled off his bow from where it hung on his back and gave his mate her knife and the finished switch. "And you want me t' not push myself. I can shoot just fine. You're pregnant, you shouldn't even be touching a weapon, let alone something like a bow."

"I'm only a season in; I can still shoot a damn woodpigeon. I'm pregnant, not useless," Konin replied, instantly regretting her choice of words.

"And I suppose I am?" her mate replied, fitting an arrow to its string and pulling it back experimentally.

"Give me your bow, Rederick."

"No."

He took aim at the bird, pulling the string back to his chin. Pain like fire shot from his shoulder to his orange paw. The snow was no longer cold on his footpaws, and a bead of sweat fell from his brow. The bird turned and looked at him, staring death in the eyes.

"Rederick…"

He loosed the arrow.

_Thwack._

The woodpigeon flew away, startled by the sudden noise and the projectile that had just buried itself in the trunk of the tree behind it, crooked in angle. There was a silence and then the bow dropped from the fox's grasp and he slumped to his knees. "I ain't useless," he panted. "I ain't." His ears perked at the sound of somebeast stepping behind him, the snow squelching loudly beneath his careless paws. "Tell me where you've been, Helk, before I beat you senseless."

His son stepped around him tentatively, showing him a dead woodpigeon he carried in his paw, an arrow embedded in its wing and blood spilling from it and dripping down onto Helk's paw and the snow below. "I-I-I'm sorry," he stuttered out, "I was hungry an' I saw it an' so I followed it. D-Did I do good, Da?"

Rederick stared at the bird, its very existence seeming to taunt him. It was an unclean kill, looking to have survived the arrow but bleeding to death shortly afterwards from its wound. Helk had gotten a lucky shot, but even still, it had been his six-season old whelp who had killed a bird and not him. Konin looked at him, the switch dropping from her grasp. The archer pulled his son's arrow from the dead bird's wing and nodded. "Aye."

**-.-.- -.-.- -.-.-**

The night was cold, cold enough that not even the flame of Rederick's right paw could ward off the chilled wind that bristled through his fur and made him pull his dark cloak closer around his body. In truth, the fox had no idea where he was going anymore, and merely moved quickly along the bank of some side-stream that had broken off of the main river, following its flow and using only the moon to light his path. His mate and son stumbled slowly behind him trying to match his increasing pace.

"When are we gonna stop, Da?" He heard Helk call as he struggled to keep up.

Rederick slowed his pace long enough for them to catch up. "When we find a new horde t' join." He took Konin's paw and supported her while she caught her breath. "We ain't stopping until then. So catch your breaths and then we keep moving."

"You're gonna kill yourself, Rederick," Konin panted.

"Then go home, where you an' Helk belong," Rederick retorted, breathing heavily.

"I ain't leavin'. Ya can't make me," she said.

"Well, I ain't got another plan. How else am I gonna get you and Helk through winter? By having Helk keep shooting woodpigeons for us? Answer me that, because I'd like t' know myself," the archer responded, beginning to walk again. The trees were growing thicker, their trunks making it difficult to judge what was in front of him.

"Rederick," she panted. "What are we gonna do?"

"I don't know," he said. "I really don't know." The silence that followed was unsettling. Even the wind had stopped blowing for that moment, as if part of a sick joke by the Fates.

"Da," Helk said, tugging on his sleeve and thankfully interrupting the silence.

"What?" Rederick muttered, pushing the fox kit's paw away from his shoulder.

"D' ya smell dat?"

"Do I smell what?" he answered.

Konin sniffed. "Smoke," she said.

Rederick's ears perked at the word. He sniffed the air. Surely enough, the familiar smell of smoke filled his nostrils as it billowed from someplace nearby. "It's close." Konin pulled one of her daggers from her belt and pawed it over to Rederick. The fox took the blade and flicked it experimentally in his left paw. "Stay close t' me."

The idea of an unsuspecting camp of unarmed woodlanders surrounding a warm fire thrilled Rederick. His demeanor changed with each step, a smile slowly forming on his maw as the stream beside him began trickling and growing smaller. The heavy trees around him began thinning, and the stench of smoke and ash grew stronger every time the archer sniffed the air.

As the layer of trees disappeared, what Rederick saw next baffled him. The stream beside him deposited itself into a large lake that had mostly frozen over, the ice cracked and broken in some areas. A cliff wound itself around it on its southeastern side, tall enough that, if there were no water beneath it, a fall from it could leave a beast with a broken leg. But what the archer couldn't keep his eyes off of was the stone cottage that had been built upon it, smoke billowing from the chimney that rose all the way to its second story. A light had been left on in one of the windows, flickering like a candle, and he could make out the silhouette of some beast leaning over, before the light promptly disappeared, and the inside of the window became nothing but blackness.

A house like that would be locked, and Rederick had neither the knowledge to pick locks nor the strength to break the door down. Konin turned to him and he could see she was thinking the same thing.

Rederick slumped to his knees, cold and hungry, the dying embers of his hope beginning to dwindle in the cold snow.

"Are we stayin' 'ere?" Helk asked innocently, staring at his father with his wide eyes.

Rederick turned his head and glanced at Helk for a mere moment before turning away, his teeth clenched in spite.

"Aye."


	3. Monsters

**A/N: Hello again, sorry for the slightly longer wait for this update. I got a little busy dealing with real-life hassles like school and work and didn't have too much time to get much writing done or any editing for that matter. To clarify my updating schedule, my goal is to do one chapter a week, but if I can't manage that, then it should be something more like: a chapter every 1-2 weeks, though I'll be trying to make it at least somewhat consistent. Thanks again for bearing with me and, special thanks to my reviewers for Chapter 2: Thomas the Traveler, Professor-Evans, Kestter/Nashog, and Saraa Luna. Thanks again, and I'd love to hear your input on this chapter as well.**

**The beginning of this chapter may be a little boring because it's a lot of description and not much dialogue or anything really happening, but it'll get more interesting towards the middle of it. **

* * *

**Good Fences**

-Chapter 3: Monsters-

* * *

Django Riverdeep's grey-green eyes flickered open as they always did the moment the rising sun appeared outside of his window, brightening the upstairs bedroom he shared with his wife, Lorena, with the pale golden light of dawn. The riverdog let out a long, weary yawn and stretched out his burly muscles underneath the warm sheets, shielding his eyes from some of the early morning sunshine that continued to peek inside through the spaces between the curtains curiously.

"Alright, I'm up, I'm up," he muttered in defeat, sliding out from under the warm blanket and sheets carefully and quietly as to not disturb his sleeping wife next to him. The otter stretched his muscles once more, placing his webbed paw upon the nightstand beside his bed for support, and moved to the wardrobe he and Lorena had had furnished and placed by their window. He dropped his night clothes, folding them neatly before putting them in their designated drawer and donning a long-sleeved cream tunic and a pair of tight-knit breeches. He slipped on the clothing and moved to where Lorena lay, planting a soft kiss on her forehead as he did every morning before leaving the room and descending the flight of stairs that led to their kitchen and den.

The two rooms were expansive and well furnished, separated only by a solid wooden countertop and a collection of drawers and cabinets in the center that connected to a lone doorway leading to the dining room. The living room was homely and comfortable, equipped with three ornamental sofas that surrounded an inviting brick fireplace, its mortar smooth and neat with no two bricks larger than the other, the telltale expert craftsmanship only possible by moles. Small logs were stacked in a box next to it for a ready supply of firewood. Django recalled one autumn where Lorena had been asked by some mouse artisan to help his wife in the delivery of his second child, and, in return, the beast had fashioned them a beautiful carpet, detailing the designs of rivers and trees with delicate swirls of greens, blues, and browns, until finally become the letter Rs in the corners. That carpet now lay in its full glory in their den, where they could lay upon it and bask in the heat of the fire.

The kitchen was furnished just as well as the living room, with ornate cabinets, drawers, and shelves all filled with utensils and cutlery. An array of pots and pans, gifts from Lorena's mother, hung suspended over the wooded countertop in the middle of the two rooms, a wash bucket along with two barkcloth towels hanging alongside them in their own designated spots. A brick oven, smaller but still in the same style as Redwall's, had been constructed and placed at the furthest end of the opposite counter, a long, black tube chimney sprouting from its top and disappearing into the ceiling. Just like the bricked chimney in the den, a cluster of firewood lay next to it, ready to be burnt in preparation for a meal. Lorena had done well in acquiring all of the necessary tools and furnishing to make the two rooms complete.

Django moved through the kitchen, running one of his webbed paws over the countertops and pulling a bottle from one of the cabinets as he thought over the seasons that had passed. It had been three since he and Lorena had first arrived at the hidden lake and decided to settle there, two of which had been spent hauling heavy stones and timber, with the help of some of the Redwallers who wished to see their former infirmary keeper off, through Mossflower woods to make their new home. Though the otter had appreciated their help, Django had insisted that they had done enough for his dwelling and that he wanted to make at least part of it himself. Thus his dining room had been born. It was humble in design, with a simple rectangular, mahogany table stood in the center of the room, surrounded by six chairs, and had a spotless white tablecloth draped over its top, a vase of flowers and two candles placed upon it. Light seeped in from the window, reflecting off the glass jars of herbs and spices, and the array of plates and bowls that adorned the shelves of a single cupboard. Upon the wall, the otter's family mantra, "The Riverdeeps are as proud and strong as their tails are long," had been painted upon a thick sheet of canvas, framed, and hung up upon the wall.

Django took great pride in the dining room, however simple it was compared to the rest of his home. But it was modest, and he personally made it part of his morning routine to drink a hot cup of cider inside of it, his eyes fluttering over his pawwork.

The burly otter did just that, taking a seat at the head of the table and pulling out the cork of his acquired bottle, putting it to his lips and letting the warm, sweet taste of cider fill his mouth.

"Ew, drinkin' outta the bottle…"

Django blinked in surprise and wiped his snout, turning to where he had heard the voice. The newcomer stared at him with his wide, blue eyes, having to lean his furry head around the corner of a doorframe to see his father from where he was perched upon a sofa in the den, clad in a myriad of blankets. The younger otter made motions with his mouth and paws, a child's way of pretending to gag.

Strong had grown well during the three seasons that had passed, his balled shoulders broadening a little and a tiny bit of muscles beginning to show upon the lad's body from his time of hauling some of the lighter rocks during their home's building. The young otter's voice had matured to where he no longer spoke in babbles, and he had grown taller, standing to his father's upper torso when he stood on the tips of his claws. His rudder hadn't changed much, still dragging behind him like the squirrel doll he had clutched in his paws that never left his side.

"Don't matter," Django muttered to his son, taking another swig from the bottle. "Was goin' t' finish it anyway."

"What!?" Strong bellowed, jumping out from under his blankets and running across to the dining room, nearly tripping over his striped pajamas in his haste. "No! That's the last o' the cider."

"What happened t' it bein' gross, eh, lad?" Django joked, swishing the bottle back and forth and offering it to his son. "Relax, yer mum will make more."

Strong took the bottle eagerly, slurping down the rest of the drink in a matter of seconds.

"What're ya doin' up so early, anyway lad?" He glanced to the covers and pillows that Strong had set up on the sofa. "An' what were ya doin' sleepin' in there 'stead o' yer room?"

The otter cub wiped his snout on his sleeve. "I couldn't sleep," he explained. "I heard somethin' outside my window last night, so I came in 'ere. Thought I saw somethin' outside. Brushy did too," he said, referring to the name of the squirrel doll still clutched in his free paw.

Django chuckled. "There ain't nothin' outside, lad, nothin' but snow. Anythin' you or 'Brushy' saw was just yer imagination."

"But I swear I saw somethin'! It looked like a monster..."

Django let out a sigh. "Strong, how many times do I gotta tell ya, there ain't no such thing as monsters, at least not the kind that hide under yer bed, or in yer closet, or outside yer window? It's just the wind, a shadow cast from the trees, yer mind playin' tricks on ya. That's all. There ain't no reason t' be runnin' out here or hidin' behind yer mum's skirts anymore. Ya gotta be brave."

"But I…" Strong mumbled.

"Strong."

"Okay," the young otter muttered in defeat. "I guess yer right, dad."

"Course I am," his father replied. "Now go back t' sleep, ya look like ya got bags under yer eyes. Unless, o' course, ya wanna join me with shovelin' the snow around the house?"

Strong shook his head furiously, running back into the living room and disappearing back under his blankets and letting out a few fake snores for good measure.

The burly otter stifled a chuckled, putting the bottle back where he had found it and ambling over to their front door. Django pulled off his coat, a warm, thick thing Lorena's parents had given him some seasons ago, from the coat rack beside the door and slid on a pair of boots, taking a moment to glance out the window as he stuffed his arms into the sleeves. As his mother only took him to the lake for a few weeks in the summer when he was a child, this had been the first time he had ever seen the pristine place during the winter, with its grassy hills and trees covered in snow and the lake in its center nearly frozen over. Had the ice been any thicker, he would have tried to furnish a few metal blades for the soles of his boots so that he could skate across the lake's surface as they had sometimes done at Redwall during their younger seasons. But, with some of the broken chunks of the frozen lake he could see floating by the bank, that would be impossible this winter, so instead- mostly to relieve himself of his boredom of having completed their home- the otter occupied himself with shoveling away each previous evening's snowfall or splitting log after log with an axe for a steady supply of firewood.

It had snowed quite hard and gotten quite cold as he'd slept, as he could tell by the fact that the white sheets littering the ground outside had decided they needed matching blankets. Django buttoned his coat and buckled his boots, then slid open the latch to unlock the door. The otter had been right about the cold, the moment he pushed it open the frigid air sent a shiver through his body, his fur threatening to stand on end like the quills on a hedgehog's back.

Django, not wishing to become a different species, pulled his coat tighter around his body. He uncovered his trusty shovel from where it had become buried, and set to work. The burly otter continued his job for nearly an hour until most of the excess snow had been safely moved to the trees around his home. From there, the riverdog exchanged his shovel in favor of a fishing pole and moved to his favorite spot in the lake when it came to fishing, a muddy bank that offered protection to the aquatic beasts within with its collection of reds that sprung from the ground and out of the water. Of course, the fish were too hungry and cold to care about any predators, oftentimes swarming around the spot whenever Lorena went outside with a stale loaf of bread. Luckily, the ice around it hadn't been thick enough to not crack apart, so it floated in broken chunks in the frigid water around the spot.

He cast his line, a dead worm secured to the hook, into the hole, watching the little red bobber float to its surface and cause ripples across the surface of the lake. "Come on, mateys," Django said to himself. "Ya know it's cold down there an' yer probably hungry by now." After nearly a half hour of waiting, the otter sighed, giving up. He stuck the pole deep into the snow, grabbing a nearby stone and using it as a stopper to hold it in place in case a fish got interested later.

With that task completed, yet, unfortunately, failed, Django moved to his next assignment: splitting firewood to replace the logs used the night before. The otter walked to the side of his home where a large, welded structure sat, holding a bushel of firewood that had already been cut, similar to what was in their living room. A window was positioned above it, the window to Strong's bedroom, and an entrance to their basement, its doors held closed by a long chain. He glanced around it, searching for the axe that typically leaned against it, furrowing his brow before leaning over and searching through the snow in case the tool had fallen and gotten buried. "Now, where have ya gotten to?" He scanned around him, noticing where a cluster of logs had fallen from their perch. Django began putting them back in their place, wondering how they had fallen. Maybe it had been the wind, he figured, and it had pushed over some key log and caused them all to fall. It certainly explained what Strong had supposedly heard during the night. But, where had his axe gone?

Django shrugged, beginning to move behind his home to where a rickety shed had been built to house the family's gardening and yard equipment. He pulled open the door and searched inside, wondering if he had placed it on one of the dusty shelves after yesterday's labors without thinking. He didn't see it, in fact, he didn't see much at all. The tools and equipment he remembered, rakes, brooms, spades, and hedge clippers, were either missing or lying unceremoniously upon the ground. Bottles of lantern oil lay spilt over the shelves and, of the twelve he remembered, he only saw six. The tankards of cider that Lorena had made some days before and set out to cool had vanished. A spade and a rake had fallen off a pair of hooks that hung them off the ground, scattered among the disarray that littered the ground. A wagon that belonged to Strong had mysteriously disappeared from its place in the corner, making Django think his son had something to do with the mess. Maybe he had tripped badly while trying to get his toy, or Lorena had asked him to get something and he had had to search for it? Or perhaps the noise the young otter had heard hadn't been his imagination at all?

The burly otter moved back outside. There were no tracks on the ground; the falling snow would have long covered them up. Django furrowed his brow. "What in the blue blazes happened?" he asked himself, glancing through the trees.

He turned and looked around the corner of the house, laying his eyes upon his fishing line. He nearly cursed, sprinting there in an instant and grabbing hold of the pole just before it was pulled into the frigid water, all previous thoughts of the possible intruder erased from his mind. The string was taut and the little red bobber struggled to stay afloat as the otter yanked upon the pole, trying his best to keep the string from snapping. There was a slight splash as the fish surfaced for just a moment and Django identified it as a grayling, a big, fat one at that, and he blessed his luck for its size. The others he had managed to catch were always so scrawny that it usually took all of Lorena's efforts to makes something satisfactory out of them.

The grayling fought hard against Django's burly muscles, but even its size was not match for the raw sinew that rippled from the riverdog's arms with each yank. After some five minutes of battling with the otter, the fish flopped useless on the ground at the otter's footpaws, struggling not to suffocate. He hated this part. Watching something die in front of his eyes, regardless of what it was, had become practically unbearable, and he never had the delicate strength or resolve Lorena had when it came to such matters, nor the strength she had to handle the blood that came from simply gutting it with a knife. It was for this reason that the otter preferred spearfishing, where, if he did it correctly, the fish would be slain instantly with no suffering involved and little blood spilt.

Django turned away from his catch as the life faded from its body, muttering an apology and an old prayer beneath his breath. The otter didn't turn back until the flopping of the fish had stopped, grabbing the fish by the lip and walking back in the direction of his front door. At the doorstep, the otter paused, giving two last looks around him for anything amiss. He saw nothing but snow.

He locked the door behind him.

The constant sound of a thin knife chopping away on a cutting board was what greeted Django when he entered the kitchen once more with his freshly-caught grayling in tow. His wife, Lorena, was leaning over the counter, the blade held carefully in her delicate paws as she chopped at an array of vegetables. She didn't look up or turn to acknowledge him, but her husband could see the edges of her pearly teeth curved into a light smile as she set aside her knife and wiped her paws upon her apron.

"I was afraid you'd gotten frozen out there," she joked.

"I almost did," the riverdog answered. "Yer dad's old jacket almost wasn't enough." He added a shiver for good measure.

"And what's that you've got there?" the otterwife asked, nodding towards the fish held in Django's paw.

Django held up his prize for her to see. "Oh, just a little present for my dear, ol' wife. I figured what better way t' show my love was there than t' stand in the freezin' cold 'til I caught her the biggest fish in the whole lake."

"Oh, is that right?" she said, grabbing one of the hanging barkcloth towels from the overhead rack and laying it flat upon the counter so that he could set down his burden. "I must be the luckiest lady in all of Mossflower. While other maids get pretty rings, jewelry, and flowers, I get a fish."

"Well, it's the thought that counts, right?" Django said, moving behind her and watching as his wife flipped over the greyling and inspected every inch of it with her experienced blue eyes.

"I suppose so," she answered, her inspection pausing for a mere moment as she rolled her eyes cynically. She flipped the fish over once more upon the towel, her eyes darting over its scaled body. "I really wish you'd stop letting them drown," Lorena noted, her mouth curving into a faint frown for a heartbeat before she spoke again. "You're making them suffer more than they would if you merely used a knife."

"Ya should know why I can't, Lorena," Django answered her complaint.

"I know," she replied. Her frown twisted back into the soft smile that he loved so much as she gave him a playful shove. "But, it's a good, big, fat one. I'm sure it'll last us a couple of nights, and you know how much Strong loves a good grayling. Maybe when it gets a little warmer and the ice melts, you can teach him how to spearfish." Lorena wiped her paws on her apron and moved back to her cutting board, taking up her knife once more into her paw. "Did you get any more firewood cut?" she asked, pointing with the blade of her knife to the dwindling logs by the oven. "I'm starting to run out."

"Couldn't," Django answered. "Couldn't find my axe anywhere. Wasn't by the logs, wasn't in the shed. Ya didn't move it did ya? Or Strong? His wagon was missin', along with some other things."

His wife shook her head. "I haven't touched it. And I don't think Strong has either."

"Then that leaves the monsters," he replied with a disbelieving look to the window.

"Hmm?"

The burly otter motioned with one of his webbed paws to where Strong was lying fast asleep upon the sofa, his squirrel doll held tight against his chest. "Strong was up early this mornin', about when I was goin' t' start shovelin' the snow, because he said he was havin' trouble sleepin'. Said he heard somethin' outside his window. He was scared it was somebeast outside. I told 'im it was the wind an' just his imagination. Now I'm startin' t' think he might've been right."

The knife dropped from Lorena's. She turned to her husband with a concerned look. "Are the doors locked?"

"Aye," he answered her, watching as she moved hurriedly to the windows, glancing out them frantically and making sure each one's latch holding it closed was secured in place, their freshly-caught meal forgotten. He followed suit, moving to the window closest to the front door. The otter's watchful eyes surveyed the area around the lake, looking for anything amiss, whether it was the fur of another beast betrayed in the white field or the sight of a nearby fire. Lorena's delicate claws slid over his as she moved next to him, her eyes flickering across the landscape along with his. "Wake up Strong, dear, tell him not t' go outside t'day. Try not t' scare 'im."

She nodded. With careful silence, his wife seemed to float urgently yet almost gracefully through the living room. She nudged Strong gently, trying not to set him in a panic. "Strong," she whispered. "Strong, it's time to wake up."

"Idon'twannawakeup," he mumbled. "Ididn'tsleepandIwannasleepmore."

"Strong, it's time t' get up, lad," Django called from his position. "Chores don't do themselves."

He buried his face further into the pillow.

"Strong," Lorena said impatiently.

Their half-asleep son answered her with a groan in complaint, rolling haphazardly off of the couch and onto his footpaws. He let out a yawn, blinking tiredly at his mother before turning to Django. "What're ya doin'?"

His father pulled himself away from the window. "Nothin', lad," he answered. "Listen, alright. Get some o' yer chores done and we'll talk about lettin' ya get some more shuteye, but, Strong, no matter what ya do today, yer not t' go outside, got it?"

"What?" he asked, perplexed. "Why not?"

"It's cold out," Lorena explained. "Your father was out there for barely an hour and already has some sniffles. I don't want you getting sick."

Django added a cough and a loud sniff for good measure.

"Oh. Okay," Strong replied. "Are ya gonna make a fire later, dad?"

"Aye," Django answered, his eyes scanning the landscape once more. An orange colored movement caught his grey green eyes and they narrowed angrily in response.

"Dad, what's wrong?"

He turned back to his son. "Nothin', lad, nothin'." He gave his son a reassuring smile. "Go get dressed and clean up yer room some. I'll call ya out when yer mum's got breakfast ready, alright?"

He nodded slowly, looking unconvinced. "Okay," his son mumbled, "come on, Brushy." He grabbed up his toy from where it lay on the sofa. Django watched him disappear around the corner into the hallway, waiting for the sound of his door closing to reach his ears.

The distinct noise came and the burly otter turned to his wife. "Where's my sling?"

"In the drawer like always." She moved to his side. "Why?"

Django gave a point with one of his claws to the three foxes that had appeared from the woods on the opposite side of the lake, now huddling around a blistering fire. One gave a look towards his home, turning back to the blaze after a few moments. "Because, I found Strong's monsters."

-.-.- -.-.- -.-.-

The fire that Konin had managed to start from the lantern oil and logs that she and Helk had pilfered from the home across the lake had been one of the few reliefs Rederick had had since the previous night. After arriving at the lake, the archer and his family had done everything in their power to find a way into the house quietly, checking every door and window within reach to make sure one hadn't been mistakenly left unlocked and searching the shed behind for a spare key or anything of the like. Helk had found an axe on the side by a cluster of firewood, albeit, not retrieving it without knocking over every log in the pile and making any quiet attempt of entrance a near impossibility at that point. Nothing ever went right, and it had taken all of his mate's complaints to not simply take the axe at that moment and force his way through one of the doors or windows.

He pulled his cloak tighter around his lithe body, letting the thin cloth absorb the heat from the fire and shield him from the cold. That would have been stupid, he knew. He had no idea how many beasts were inside the home, if any of them had weapons, or how the house was designed. If he smashed down a door, the ruckus would have undoubtedly woken up somebeast within and it would be likely that he would have been killed before making it five steps inside. An injured archer, a pregnant vixen, and a kit would be no match for anybeast who didn't immediately cower in fear.

Frustration after frustration, Rederick had taken what they had been able to get, a wagon, a few bottles of lantern oil, the axe, spare firewood, two tankards of cider, a cloak, and a haversack, and the fire had been all that had been able to quell the archer's rage and rest his weary body from the cold.

Rederick didn't care how close he was to the home or if the inhabitants had become aware of their presence yet-if they were like any other woodlanders, they would just hide inside of their home until they left- and he simply followed his son's example and let his eyelids droop, enjoying the warmth of the flame.

"Rederick!" Konin shouted urgently from her position next to him, snapping the archer fully awake just as a grey blur shot past his vision and into the shield of trees with a few resounding _thwacks_ as it bounced between several different trunks.

Naturally.

The archer was up on his paws in a heartbeat, grabbing for his bow from where it lay next to him in the snow. Another one of the projectiles buried itself into the snow right by his orange-colored paw, still in mid reach, and forced him to scurry backwards away from it lest he be shot. The fox panted, glancing from his fallen weapon to his assailant. Helk, who had been startled awake after the first slingstone had been fired, stared at the beast, his tail fixed between his legs as he took a step back towards his parents.

It was an otter, at least ten seasons older than he was, spinning a loaded sling above his head. The beast was brutish and muscular to where he would have reminded Rederick of Konin's father had it not been for the lack of any scars.

The beast gave a snarl. "Go for that bow one more time, fox, and the next one hits yer skull," the riverdog said, his sling spinning in perfect rhythm with Rederick's quickening heartbeat.

The fox nodded in understanding, exchanging a look with Konin. His mate raised her paw, signaling to the belligerent riverdog that she didn't mean any harm and took her son's paw, guiding him behind her. "Go get more firewood, Helk," Rederick said, not looking away from the otter.

"How about this time, ya get it from the forest and not my home?" the brawny riverdog added, giving the fox kit an angry look. Helk yelped and leapt back, running as quick as his little paws could towards the tree line. When the child disappeared, he turned back to Rederick. "Now that I have yer attention, ya can start by tellin' me what ya were doin' around my house last night an' why ya stole my things." He gave a nod to the wagon by the flames, filled to the brim with the things taken from the shed.

Rederick searched for words, trying to get the otter to lower his guard for merely a moment, but nothing came from his mouth. What was he supposed to say to a beast that had a sling aimed at his head and had every right to kill him?

Konin spoke first. "We… we apologize. We're simply travelers, sir, tryin' t' make it through the winter. We ran out o' supplies. It was cold, and we needed a fire."

"Liar," the otter said. "I can tell by the clothes on yer back an' yer weapons that yer hordebeasts. So, where is it? Where's yer horde?"

Rederick exchanged a look with his mate, giving her a nod. "Ain't our horde anymore," Konin answered the beast. "Used t' be hordebeasts, now we're just…"

"Travelers," Rederick finished for her. "That's all."

"An' why should I believe that?" the riverdog snapped back at him. "Ye've got weapons, ye've stolen my things. How many goodbeasts have ya killed, huh?"

There was silence between the group, the only sounds being the crackling of the flames and the constant whirl of the woodlander's sling. Rederick's amber eyes peered deep into the otter's green ones as they silently battled with one another, both waiting for the other to make a move.

"Tell me one reason why I should!"

"I can't."

"Django…" Rederick's eyes snapped to a female otter who had appeared behind her male counterpart for a mere moment, allowing himself to take in her thin, delicate figure and the fishing spear clutched in her faint paws. The brutish beast's mate, he assumed. She looked at him for a moment with her blue eyes, seeming to examine him, before doing the same to Konin, then turning to the other otter. She whispered something in his ear, passing him the weapon she held. The fox's eyes darted back to the burly otter as he took the spear and glanced over Konin, his green eyes drifting over her midriff. He rolled his eyes, muttering something beneath his breath.

The sling stopped spinning above his head, falling slack by his side. "Ya can leave once ya give me yer weapons an' ya clean up my shed," the otter named Django said in distaste. Rederick waited patiently, nodding to everything. "I expect everythin' ya took t' be in the place ya found it, after that…" The riverdog unwisely turned his head and blinked.

Rederick leapt for his bow with an arrow already drawn from his quiver, somersaulting expertly onto his knees and fitting it to the string in an instant. Both otters stared in horror at the lone arrow notched onto his string before Django gave his best attempt at shielding his mate with his body. The fox drew the string back with his flamed paw.

And then he heard something rip. Not fabric or cloth, but muscle. Rederick's eyes went wide as the bow dropped from his paw and the arrow landed uselessly barely a taillength in front of him, and he let out a shriek in agony. Konin only had time to let out a yell before Django crashed into her mate and pinned him down in the snow, his elbow lodged on his throat and cutting off his air supply.

The fox gagged and barely had a chance to raise a paw in defense before the otter's free paw descended upon his face over and over again. The beast on top of him snarled. "DON'T YA EVER POINT THAT WEAPON AT MY WIFE AGAIN, VERMIN!"

"Django! Stop!"

"Rederick!"

After what felt like an eternity, the beast's onslaught ceased and he got off of him. Rederick panted as the otter's footpaw pressed down upon his chest and pinned him to the ground, and the point of a spear appeared at his throat. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill ya right now," Django demanded. The fox coughed up blood and clutched desperately at his shoulder, the cold snow he laid upon doing nothing to relieve him from the burning fire that shot from it as he writhed in pain and answered the otter only in groans. "ANSWER ME!" the beast shouted, the tip of the fishing spear pushing against the archer's neck and drawing blood. The otter shuddered at the sight of it and the spear trembled in his paws.

"Django, stop!" the beast's mate shouted, grabbing hold of his shoulder and trying to pull the otter off of him.

"He was goin' t' kill ya, Lorena!" he yelled back at her.

"I don't care, Django!" she snapped. "I'm not about to let you kill that defenseless beast!"

"Let him, he'd be doing me a favor," Rederick coughed.

Django ignored the fox, rounding on the female otter. "Defenseless? He would 'ave shot us dead with that bow had I not stopped 'im. He's vermin, Lorena. I got rid of his bow but who knows how many other weapons he's got on 'im? Swords in 'is cloak, knives in 'is bootsoles? He's scum. Think of all the innocent beasts he's killed! I need t' kill 'im before he kills anymore."

The distinctive _chink_ of Konin's daggers being pulled from their sheaths reached Rederick's ears as he turned his head in the snow to see his mate standing a mere three taillengths to the otter's side, holding the two weapons in her paws deftly.

"Lorena, get behind me," the riverdog snapped urgently to his mate, his green eyes never straying from the fox's mate as his own followed his instructions. Through clenched teeth, the otter snarled at Konin and pushed his spear closer to Rederick's neck. "Take one step, just one step."

Konin stayed where she stood, grey ears falling flat upon her skull as the fur on her neck bristled with fury. They weren't the type of daggers to be thrown, so the vixen snarled sullenly as she lowered them into a defensive stance. "Get off my mate," she said.

Rederick felt the point of the spear push against his neck threateningly, its tip shaking again in the otter's unsteady paws. Once more, they trembled as if he were actually afraid the vixen would move from her position and try something.

Rederick turned his head as much as he could from where he was pinned, looking to where his mate stood. She was expecting, but she was still lithe and fast, and from where she stood, it wouldn't be that difficult for her to leap forward and strike the otter before he even had the chance to raise his spear away from the fox's neck to defend himself. "Kill him, Konin. Kill him now."

"One step forward an' I'll do it," the otter said, pushing the spear closer to the fox's neck.

"Draw even one more drop o' blood from my mate," his mate warned, "an' I'll make yer death slow…" The vixen gave a look to where the otterwife stood carefully behind her mate. Konin narrowed her gaze. "…slow enough that ya can watch me do the same t' her."

"You stay away from my wife!" Django snarled. Rederick felt the blade pressed against his neck ease up slightly.

The archer let out a gasp of relief and turned his head, letting it settle in the soft snow. His amber eyes fell upon the otters' home he had so much wanted to take for himself, its door swung wide open and a young riverdog, who he assumed was their child, stood in its entrance, perplexed at the sight of what was happening.

"Strong!" the female otter yelled, having noticed him as well. "Go inside, right now!"

The otter cub backed up slightly in response, but was too dumbstruck to move any further, his wide, frightened eyes frozen on the scene like the ice that was layered over the lake.

"An' him too," Konin said.

Before the otter could react, Rederick turned his head back to his mate and shouted, "Konin, do it! You know you're faster than him. He won't even get the chance to fight back!"

Konin gave a look to the archer. "He'll slay ya." Django reaffirmed what she said with another push of his spear towards his neck.

"It doesn't matter, Konin," Rederick replied. "You can kill him. You can kill him and… and when you do, you can take their home, you and Helk. You'll get food… shelter. Maybe you'll actually be able to survive the winter. You just have to kill him, Konin!"

The vixen gave another look to her mate. "But he'll slay ya, Rederick."

"I DON'T CARE!" he shouted. "KILL HIM! JUST KILL HIM! SAVE YOURSELF!"

"Shut up!" Django shouted, the tip of his spear bristling Rederick's neck once more. The otter's muscles tensed and his green eyes never strayed from the vixen as he estimated a lunge from her, his trembling paws ceasing as he prepared for the inevitable.

The vixen's golden eyes looked to her mate for a mere moment before darting back to Django. In nothing more than a whisper, she said, "Get off my mate."

"KONIN!" Rederick squirmed under the weight of the otter's footpaw.

"Shut up, Rederick!" she snarled. "Get off my mate!" Konin repeated to the otter.

Django gave a look to the daggers she still held in her paws and snarled. "Get rid of those an' we'll talk."

Rederick narrowed his gaze at his mate. Tears welled in his eyes. "You better not, Konin. Kill him…please."

_Chink. _Rederick was speechless as the vixen ignored his plea and slid the black-hilted daggers into their sheaths, and, with a sigh, slowly unbuckled her belt from around her waist, tossing it lightly at the otter's footpaws. Konin raised her paws to show she was unarmed.

The otter's spear had gone back to its trembling state at his neck.

"You idiot…" the archer whispered to himself.

Django looked to the where he was pinning the fox to the ground, giving him a snarl. "Lorena, give me his bow." The otterwife did as she was asked, grabbing it up from where the archer had dropped it in the snow when her mate had charged into him. She pawed it over to him.

Django's spear left Rederick's throat and its point made short work of the fox's bowstring. The otter tossed the now-useless piece of wood into the snow by Rederick's paw. "Ye've got an hour t' get off my property, vermin," he spat. "If yer not gone by then, if I even see a hair o' yers still here, I'm getting' my spear. Got it?"

Rederick nodded sullenly, wiping away the blood still spurting from his snout. "Aye."

"Good." The otter paced around the fire that had begun to die and grabbed the handle for the stolen wagon. He passed his spear to his mate. "Come on, Lorena," he muttered, taking her paw in his and ambling back towards their home. Django gave a look over his shoulder and scowled.

It was only when the two riverdogs had disappeared into the safety of their home did Rederick clutch at his shoulder and sob in pain. Konin was next to him in a moment, embracing him as carefully as she could, and crying into his chest.

"Are ya okay?" she managed to ask between her sobs.

"I couldn't even fire one arrow…"

"Why'd ya even try, Rederick? We coulda walked away," his mate replied.

"And if we had, what would've been the point? Where would we've gone?" he barked back at her. "That riverdog was doing us a bloody favor, Konin! You could've had a shelter! Food! Warmth! All you had to do was stab him, but you didn't!"

"He would have slain ya, Rederick!"

"No, he wouldn't have!" At his mate's silence, Rederick continued. "That beast was weak, Konin. He ain't ever killed a beast like that before. Or did ya not notice the fact his paws were trembling when he held that spear t' my throat, or he grimaced when a little spurt of blood came out? He wasn't gonna do it. He was just bluffing. You could have killed him… and saved all of us… but you didn't!"

"But 'e could 'ave," she said.

"Who cares?" Rederick replied. "Even if he did, Konin, you and Helk would have made it, and that's what matters. I don't mean a damn anymore."

Konin's mouth shut and she was noiseless, even her sobbing had stopped.

"Who cares? Who cares?" she repeated. "Have ya ever stopped t' think that maybe _I _care? All ye've been tryin' t' do is die, tryin' t' find hordes, pushin' yerself past yer limits an' takin' unnecessary risks, wantin' that otter t' gut ya, an' ya don't even give a damn what me or even Helk think about it. But, o' course ya don't, ye're the great an' powerful Rederick Flamepaw, an' ya think one injury is reason enough t' kill yerself over, 'cause ya think yer useless an' ya can't stand t' not be in the limelight anymore. Well, maybe there's two beasts who love ya regardless of the fact if ya can shoot an arrow or not, two beasts who ya seem t' forget about. Or is two beasts not enough? I can't live like this, Rederick, yer not just killin' yerself, but yer killin' me too."

"If you loved me, Konin, you'd save yourself and go home," Rederick answered her.

Konin sobbed. "I am home."

There was silence between the two foxes as they scrounged whatever warmth their fire still offered them, leaning against each other for support as they both awaited the return of their son and the inevitable reality of what was to come.

* * *

**Sorry for the wall of text that was this chapter. I probably could have separated the two acts into different chapters, but I just felt that not much happens in the first part of it, so I decided to merge them into one chapter. Luckily the next couple of updates won't be this long. Anyways, drop a review if you have the time. Until next time.**


	4. Desperate

**Hello everyone, sorry for the long wait for this update. I got caught up with some things at my job. We got a new manager at the fast food joint I work at, and he's taken a liking to me, so I've been getting a lot more hours than I'm used to, which has had a great effect on my wallet, but not so much on my writing. Anyways, special thanks to Thomas the Traveler, Guest, Saraa Luna, Blackish, and Radio Free Death for reviewing. Special Special thanks to Blackish for the great critique (Everyone should go read his story "Don't Forget the Rats," it's a little different, but very good.) **

**And to answer the Guest's comment on why the fight was so one-sided: I thought it would be okay, as Rederick was caught by surprise by the sudden pain in his shoulder and Django was bigger and stronger than he was, which led Django to easily dominate the fight.**

**EDIT: I've gone ahead and edited some of this chapter based on Saraa Luna's comments of it.**

**Anyways, onto chapter 4, one of my personal favorites.-**

* * *

**Good Fences: **

-Chapter 4: Desperate-

* * *

"You're going to help them."

Django stared at his wife in disbelief, her delicate form hunched over their bedroom window so that she could get a better look at the vermin still huddling around their miserable fire outside. After exchanging some choice words with Strong over disobeying them and sending him to his room until further notice, that was all Lorena had done for the last half hour, waiting, watching the foxes outside with her crystal blue eyes for some reason or other, her mouth never opening to speak a word or answer any of his complaints. It was only when the beasts' sniveling brat had apparently returned did she finally break her silence, turning to him and, without any hesitation, saying the words that had left him dumbstruck.

"What? What d' ya mean, help 'em?" he replied.

"Exactly how it sounds, Django," she answered.

"Lorena, have ya forgotten how they stole from us, or, better yet, how one of 'em was about t' shoot ya? How about how they were ready t' stab me, an' you, an' Strong?" he asked. "They're vermin, dear. Ya can't help 'em. They're evil, and if they got a second chance, they wouldn't hesitate to use it to plunge those daggers in my back or shoot you or Strong."

"I don't care," she answered. "I don't care if they're evil or vermin. Django, did you even look at them, besides seeing that they were foxes? Did you not see that that beast's wife was pregnant? Or even hear him scream when he pulled his bowstring? He's injured, Django. And their son, he barely looked older than six seasons at best, and this beast, this injured beast, you're just going to send them off to fend for themselves in the middle of winter?"

"I'm sorry, dear, but I wasn't payin' attention t' the fact that they were pregnant or hurt. I was too busy worryin' about their bows an' knives!"Django shouted at his wife. He grabbed her shoulders with his webbed paws tenderly. "Lorena, they are vermin."

"No, they're foxes."

He ignored her. "They are liars, thieves, brigands, murderers. I don't know how else t' explain it. Help 'em and they'll thank ya by stabbin' ya when yer back is turned. Their kind always does."

Django watched as Lorena lowered her head and pushed off one of his paws from her shoulder. "Django, these are not the same beasts."

"It doesn't matter, they're all alike."

"So, you'll turn them away?"

"They were goin' t' kill ya!" he shouted.

"That beast was about to sacrifice his life so that his wife and child could get shelter. They're desperate, Django! They've been left to die!" Lorena retaliated.

"An' that means it's okay t' kill a beast an' his family?"

"Put yourself in their boots, Django. What if it was me, you, and Strong out there in the cold, helpless and hungry? Would you kill a beast t' save us?" Lorena inquired.

"No," the otter answered, "I wouldn't. I ain't a murderer."

"Liar," she muttered.

"How am I a liar?"

"Because you're doing that right now."

Django watched as Lorena broke away from his hold, storming away down the stairs of their bedroom. The otter quickly followed behind her, moving to where she had stopped in the kitchen, opening up cabinets and drawers as she pulled out different things with her delicate paws. She grabbed out a haversack from one, laying it out on the countertop and grabbing as much food and drink as possible and stuffing it inside.

"What are ya doin'?" Django asked.

Lorena refused to give him a look, keeping her head turned away from her husband as she continued her self-appointed task. "What you won't," she answered.

The riverdog sighed. "Stop tryin' t' guilt me into it, Lorena."

"Guilt you into it?" his wife scowled. "Whatever happened to you being proud and strong, a warrior who defended the weak and innocent? What happened to that beast?"

Django moved in front of the door to block her path. "That's the thing, they're not innocent!"

"Of course not, they're foxes," Lorena replied. "They can't possibly be innocent to you. If they were any other beast, whether mouse, squirrel, rat, ferret, or anything else, you wouldn't have cared about having been threatened by them. You would help them, if only to make them leave faster. But no, because they're foxes, you're not going to lift a claw. They are not the same beasts, Django!"

"How do ya know!?" he shouted. "How do ya know they're not the same!?"

"Because she didn't stab you. She could have, but she didn't," Lorena replied. "She could have done a lot of things, Django. I was right there beside her before you told me to move. She could have put the knife to my back instead, but she didn't, even though I was right there. She didn't want to kill anybeast, she was just scared, scared that you would kill her husband so she did the only thing she found logical to save his life," Lorena explained. "She did what you were doing!

"Django, they're tired, hungry, and helpless. I'm not going to let you send them to their deaths without doing _something. _So, either help me or don't, but, regardless, I'm going to help them, whether you want me to or not." Lorena finished stuffing the bag with supplies, turning to her husband who was still guarding the door. "So, are you going to move aside?" she said.

The otter clenched his teeth. "They will stab ya in the back."

"Django…" Lorena yearned, looking into the brawny otter's eyes. "No, they won't."

He still didn't look convinced, letting out a scowl before crossing his arms in contempt. Django muttered one more complaint beneath his breath before stepping out from in front of the door and sighing. "If yer so sure about this, then I'll let ya. But I'm goin' out there with ya," the otter informed his wife, grabbing his sling from where h had left it on the counter and counting the amount of pebbles he had left, "'cause yer a madbeast if ya think I'm lettin' ya go out there alone when both o' them are armed." The otterwife nodded as Django moved into the kitchen and pulled a large kitchen knife from the silverware drawer, testing its sharpness with a claw. Deeming the blade acceptable, he gave it to Lorena. "And yer takin' that with ya."

"Very well," she said, concealing the makeshift weapon inside one of the pockets of her apron. "Though I won't need it."

Lorena grabbed the full haversack, then rummaged through one of the bottom drawers, pulling out another. She opened it and quickly took stock of what was inside it, and seeing that everything was there and in order, threw the two haversacks over her shoulder.

"What all are ya givin' 'em? Next you'll be pawin' over the keys to the house," he complained.

His wife ignored him. "I'm going to see if I can patch up that beast's neck. You gave him a nasty wound on it and some bruises if you don't remember."

"Scum pointed a bow at my wife, he deserved far more than what I gave 'im," Django stated. "And he certainly doesn't deserve what yer tryin' to do for 'im."

Lorena nodded. "He doesn't, but he doesn't deserve t' die either."

"Well, at least we agree on one o' those things," her husband remarked cynically, stealing a glance out the window and giving a scowl.

Lorena moved noiselessly beside him, the two haversack straps held securely over her shoulder. "Thank you, Django."

"Ya don't need t' thank me, I'm not helpin 'im. You are," he said.

"Thank you for letting me," she reiterated.

Django nodded sullenly. "I don't know why I am, not for those beasts at least."

The otterwife gave him a lighthearted smile. "Because I want to, and because you love me too much for you to say no," she said, "and because you're a good beast, a good husband, a great father, and a proud warrior. I wouldn't have married you if you weren't."

Her husband returned it for a moment before it faded, and he looked deeply into her blue eyes. "Just promise me somethin', Lorena," Django said. "No matter what happens, if they refuse or ya can't help 'em, or anythin' else, promise me ya won't leave us again. Not like last time."

"Those days are over, Django," she said. "They were over the moment we arrived at this lake."

"Alright," he said, glancing back to the window. "Hurry, they're startin' t' leave. I'll cover yer back." He grabbed his sling and spear off the counter top and pulled open the door.

-.-.- -.-.- -.-.-

The few logs Helk found had managed to save their fire for another few precious minutes, much to Rederick's relief, but all good things came to an end and the chilled wind only wanted to help in that one regard, reducing the remaining flickers to ashes with its frigid breath.

Rederick kicked a pile of snow over the embers, watching as a little wisp of smoke seeped from within the pile. The fox followed its trail, and scratched at his neck where Konin had ripped up a part of her lavender dress and bandaged up the shallow wound the otter had inflicted best she could. "I'm leaving," he said, his eyes never straying from the pile and the sizzling embers underneath.

"Where are we goin'?" Helk chimed in unwittingly behind him with his agitating voice.

"Nowhere," his father answered him, turning to the fox cub. "I said _I _was leaving, not you. And don't you dare ask me if you can come too. The only place you're going is home with your mother."

Helk's silver-tipped ears drooped in response. "But-but why?"

"Because this ain't some hunting trip, Helk," Rederick answered. "You'd just slow me down."

"No, I won't!" Helk argued, tears welling in his big eyes. "I'll move fast, I promise!"

Rederick narrowed his gaze. "If you cry, Helk…"

Helk wiped one of his short, stubby arms across his eyes hastily, taking a sniff and turning to his mother for support. Konin spared her child a glance.

She shook her head at him. "Ya don't got a reason t' cry, Helk," the vixen remarked. "We're not leavin'."

Her mate spun to face her, a snarl appearing upon his maw. "Yes. Yes, you damn well are. That's final!"

"Ya can't make me, Rederick."

"I don't have t', Konin," her mate answered violently, his raspy breathing ceasing. "I might not be able t' fire an arrow anymore, but my legs are still workin' just fine. I can still run, at least faster than a whelping vixen and a cub."

"A runnin' beast is easy t' track," the vixen noted.

"Shouldn't matter if you can't catch up t' me. Besides, give it a season," Rederick remarked, "and you won't be able t' bend over enough t' even check a pawprint on the ground. Do me a favor, Konin, and go home. 'Cause at least there, Helk and that kit in yer gut's got a future."

"I ain't leavin'," Konin' repeated.

"Yes you are!" the archer snarled as he shouted the words a few mere inches away from Konin's face. Helk moved behind his mother's ripped skirt for protection, peeking his head out just enough to where he could see Rederick pant from his vigorous outburst. The fox gave his son a glance, the cub's grey ears drooping in response as he ducked further behind his barrier almost frighteningly similar to one of the unfortunate beasts who had tried oh so hard to avoid his arrows.

Rederick looked back to Konin, her stalwart look unfazed from his shout. The vixen gave a solitary breath before opening her maw to reply, her sharp canines coming unclenched. "Say it as much as ya want, Rederick, but I ain't."

"Why won't you get it through that thick skull of yours? I don't want you here!" the archer screamed out, his voice echoing through the air. He paused, trying to think of something else to say. "Go home," was all he could muster.

Rederick had forgotten how fast Konin could be, her paw an auburn blur as it stretched out and dealt him a hefty slap across his snout, his head twisting to the side from the unexpected blow. "One more bloody time, Rederick, say it one more bloody time!" she snarled. "Because I'm sick of ya lyin', not t' me, but t' yerself."

The fox scowled and spit into the snow. Without any warning or hesitation, the archer retaliated against her attack, his right paw snapping against her face with a resounding _thwack_. Konin didn't cry out, and if she had and Rederick was mistaken, Helk drowned it out with one of his own. The vixen held her eyes shut, the hairs in her hackles rising as her silver-tipped ears fell flat against her skull. A muffled growl came from behind clenched fangs as she turned back to face him, her gold eyes turned almost crimson with fury, holed up and ready to explode like a fire mountain.

Rederick panted, his shoulder throbbing in pain from the sudden movement. He grabbed at it in an attempt at relief, his gaze fixed on Konin's. "Yes. You. Are," he rasped out. "Konin, I'm trying t' protect you, t' save you-"

The archer's words were silenced as Konin's paw became clenched into a fist and returned the previous blow, hard enough that Rederick stumbled backwards and lost his footing, falling hard on his tail in the snow. The fox recovered, spitting yet more blood into the snow, and got back to his footpaws. His shoulder burned as his flamed paw clenched tightly.

Konin panted, grasping her stomach as she shook her head. "I don't need protectin', Rederick, and I don't need t' be saved. I ain't in danger. None of us are. Me and Helk are where we want t' be: with you."

"I don't want t' lose you."

"Then don't."

Rederick's paw came unclenched as he tried to reply, but was interrupted by the sound of somebeast clearing their throat for attention. The fox twitched in agitation, turning to the source. The male otter from earlier stood on his doorstep, whispering privately to his mate before the beast's green eyes fell back upon him. The otterwife adjusted a haversack on her shoulder and rolled her blue eyes in response, Rederick taking in how reminiscent they were to the ice covering the pond by their home, and muttered something back to her mate, earning a look of disappointment from the burly riverdog's face.

She took a step forward. "Hello," she tried to say.

"What in hell do you want? It ain't been an hour yet," Rederick cut her off. The look of surprise that was brought onto her face from his response was almost too satisfying, nearly bringing a smile to his face. Even her mate seemed to have one brought to his whiskered maw for some reason or other. The otterwife muttered something back and glowered at him, turning back to the fox.

"I apologize," she said for some reason. "I didn't mean to imply that intention. You can still stay for as long as you need to recuperate from those wounds of yours."

"Wounds?" The last time he had checked, the otter had only pricked open his neck, nowhere else was sporting any blood.

"Where's yer bow, vermin?" the burly otter, Django, if he remembered correctly, asked, giving him a glare.

Rederick raised his paws, showing he was unarmed. He gave a nod to the snow where it still lay. "It ain't strung."

"Take off that quiver."

"It ain't even strung."

"Take it off!"

The fox rolled his eyes and unshouldered the container of arrows from his back, and tossed it lightly into the snow. Helk looked at him expectantly, his curious eyes looking to his father for guidance. Rederick nodded at him, signaling his son to do the same.

"Yer knives too," the otter said to Konin.

"I ain't droppin' my knives," the vixen replied.

"Konin."

"Shut up, Rederick."

"Drop yer knives!"

"Tell me what'cha want, then I'll drop 'em. But not until I know that ya ain't out 'ere t' gut my mate again with that spear o' yers," she said.

"I ain't a vermin," the beast growled.

"Django, that's enough," the otterwife told him, silencing the beast as he muttered things beneath his breath. "Forgive my husband's brashness. He was once part of an otter patrol so he's hesitant to make peace with vermin. It's a long story."

An otter patrol? Rederick gave a chuckle. "I find that hard t' believe,"

"And why's that?" the burly otter questioned, his gaze narrowing.

"When you had me pinned with that spear, you couldn't finish the job, even after we threatened your kit and mate," the fox said. "And when you drew blood, you almost pulled away. Your just like most other woodlanders who get their paws on weapons, too inexperienced t' even know what side you stab the beast with, and when they find out, they don't even have the spines t' go through with it," Rederick answered him. "Don't drop your daggers, Konin. There's no point. This beast can't do anything about it."

Django stared at him, his brow furrowed in a mixture of disbelief and rage. The riverdog's paws clenched around his spear shaft as he gave a look towards his wife. "Lorena, let 'em freeze."

Lorena ignored him. "Here," the otterwife said, pulling off the haversack from her shoulder and holding it out by the strap. Of course. Just like any woodlander, arrogant enough that they had to help everybeast that crossed their paths just to boost their monstrous egos and help them sleep better at night.

"We don't need your help," Rederick answered her.

"But the winter," she said, "and your wife."

"And we definitely don't need your sympathy," the archer answered.

"How about ya speak t' my wife with some manners, seein' she's tryin' t' help yer sorry, ungrateful hides. Didn't yer mum ever teach ya any?" the annoying one said.

"I never knew my mother," Rederick said.

"Well, vermin, how about I fill in for her for a bit?" the otter replied.

The archer suppressed a laugh. "Tell me then, are your paws going t' quiver this time when you've got your spear at my neck? Are you going t' let me go again, or will you have the spine t' finish the job this time around?"

_Chink. _Konin's belt of daggers hit the snow with their distinct sound of shifting metal. "We'll take it," she said to the otterwife, stopping the affair before it could start. "Thank ya, fer yer… hospitality."

Rederick gave a glance in Konin's direction, his brow furrowed unapprovingly.

Lorena let out a sigh of relief. "Of course, it's no worry," she said, letting Django take the haversack from her and prod towards them, all the while giving Rederick several different agitated looks. The burly otter sullenly held it out for Konin to take from him, muttering obscenities beneath his breath as his mate rambled on about its contents. "I filled it with enough food and drink to last about three days, so you should have enough time to find more, and I managed to fit a jar of lantern oil in as well so you can get some easy fires going, goodness knows you'll need them with this cold weather. I've gotten some bandages too, for your neck, but if you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at it first."

"It's already been taken care of," Rederick answered with a sigh, tugging at the tight cloth around his neck.

The beast frowned, inspecting the makeshift bandage with her prying gaze. "With the winter, that's unlikely to help," she said," it's more likely that your wound will get infected. You need a better salve, maybe an ointment or a poultice to help it heal quicker." She turned her gaze to where Helk stood watching everything curiously, a dribble of snot trailing from the fox cub's snout. He sneezed at that moment, making the otterwife's gaze turn back to Rederick. "And your son looks like he's showing the early signs of some kind of fever, maybe a flu."

Rederick snorted. "What are you, some kind of healer or something?"

There was a momentary pause before the beast gave a chuckle. "Actually, I am," she said, giving a curt nod. It sounded almost as if she had just been waiting to let out that confession, as if she knew he would want to hear it.

"My wife was the infirmary keeper at Redwall Abbey for about ten seasons," Django further explained, some pride in his voice. "She's seen more beasts back t' health, than ye've seen meals."

"It's something I take great honor in. While most beasts think of Redwall for its food or its hospitality, many beasts seem to forget the medicine we have there as well. Unlike your horde, where you might have some herbs or poultices at best to help you, we have real medicine. We know how to cure beasts," the otterwife explained.

"A healer?" Konin muttered, her golden eyes fixed on the beast and her mouth agape. She blinked, shaking her head at the realization before turning back to the fox behind her. "Rederick…"

"Shut up," he said, his eyes never leaving the burly otter's mate. She gave him a hesitant smile, sympathetic blue eyes sparkling to show that she knew everything about the pain that constantly seemed to erupt from his right shoulder. "We're leaving, thank you for your hospitality," Rederick said, grabbing up his quiver and bow and instructing his son to do the same.

"Rederick!" Konin shouted.

"We're leaving."

"She's a healer!"

"I don't care," he snapped.

"But, sir," the otterwife protested. "Mister Rederick, your shoulder. Please, let me help you. You're not going to last long in the cold if you can't find any food or defend yourself. Please."

"Lorena, what are ya doin'? Let 'em leave," Django argued.

"I'm _going _to help them!" Lorena snapped to her mate.

Rederick snorted. "That's the problem with you beasts, you just have t' help everybeast you see, don't you? It makes you feel all warm and fuzzy or something. And that's why your kind gets themselves killed so much, you refuse t' lift weapons, you have t' help everybeast, and you're so damn trusting. You just open your doors t' everybeast." He rolled his eyes. "We don't need more help. That food is enough."

"Rederick, she could fix your shoulder!" Konin shouted, running as fast as she could to his side. Warm breath bristled through the fur on the vulpine's ears as she leaned in and whispered. "Rederick… we could go back t' the horde…"

The silence that followed was only broken by a desperate "please," Konin's soft voice beginning to crack. Her paw moved around him, resting on his shoulder instinctively for but a moment. But in that moment, the familiar agony, the feeling of what he thought to be fire licking at his arm, pulsed through his veins once more and forced him to clench his teeth to bear through it. The pain disappeared as quickly as it had come, Konin's paw dropping back to her side. "I want t' touch yer shoulder again, Rederick. I want ya t' stop shrinkin' away whenever me or Helk gets close t' ya, an' tellin' us t' leave when ya think that we're goin' t' die out here. I want ya t' shoot an arrow… an' I want ya t' be happy again."

"And what if it doesn't work… what if it's too broken to fix?" Rederick muttered back to her.

"I don't know, Rederick, but we'll get through it," Konin answered him.

Rederick was silent for a moment as he thought over everything that had been said. With a scowl, he looked back to Lorena. "You'll fix my shoulder?"

"I can't promise anything, but I'll certainly try," the otterwife answered.

"But you'll fix it?"

Lorena hesitated before nodding her head. "Aye."

"And your mate doesn't have any problems with this?" the archer snorted, giving his earlier assailant a glance.

The burly otter didn't say anything but merely shot Lorena a look.

"No," she said. "My husband doesn't."

Rederick looked back to him, their eyes meeting and peering deep into each other. The cold winter wind bristled through his fur once more as if it had been provoked, as if the otter had been the one to call it upon him with just the fierceness of his gaze. The frigid wind between them, had the fox known, he would have called a sign of things to come. But, though the fox could see many things, he could not see the future. And even if he could, only the chance of being healed, of going back home, was what loomed in his eyes.

Rederick took a step forward.

"Alright."


	5. Invincible

**Hello everyone, sorry for taking so long with this update. I've been really busy lately, as my job has gotten a little out of control with how many days I'm getting on my schedule and the fact that my next college semester has just started, so I've been trying to write and adjust to everything for the last three weeks but to not much avail. Luckily, I've got this chapter finally done, so I can get a much-needed update for this story that I know some of you have probably been waiting for. Special thanks to Thomas the Traveler, Saraa Luna, wildivy15, Blackish, Free thought (special thanks to you for reviewing all of my other chapters as well), and Shadow of the Nights for reviewing the last chapter.**

**Seeing as you've disabled PM, Shadow of the Nights, I'll respond to you here: I'm glad you like the story and trust me when I say that I fully intend on finishing it, even if my updates start to become few and far between because of time constraints.**

**Anyways, here's Chapter 5, I hope you all like it. Feel free to tell me your thoughts.**

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** Good Fences: **

-Chapter Five: Invincible-

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"How long is this going t' take?"

Lorena had heard the question spring up many times throughout her life, from bored Dibbuns tired of their chores, to even the occasional elder muttering it to their selves when the abbot gave a particularly long prayer before an evening's meal. But, it was always from her patients that the former infirmary keeper seemed to hear it from the most, as if they truly believed she could produce some miracle herb from the pockets of her apron that would instantly cure them of all their ailments and send them on their way. This time was no exception.

The question had sprung up again as it had fifteen minutes before and fifteen minutes before that, the fox whose mouth they were uttered from always shooting a glance towards her while he awaited an answer. The crackling embers from the fireplace did little to ward off the hordebeast's cold and unwavering gaze. From her position to his side, tying a fresh bandage around his neck; it reminded the otterwife of the relatives of past patients when they refused to avert their gazes from her while she tried to concentrate, always prying into her while they pelted her with their nonstop onslaughts of questions that were impossible to answer.

"I don't know, Mister Rederick," she answered him just as she had to his previous attempts, tying tight the bandage around the fox's neck and making him give out a slight gag.

Rederick shot Lorena a venomous glance in response, earning one himself from her husband where he was perched on the sofa across from him, Strong perched beside him on the cushions. After what he had already seen earlier in the morning, it would have been pointless to lie to him about why the child shouldn't leave his room, and an even bigger pain to try to enforce it for the rest of the day. So, her son had been admitted to sit close by his father on the sofa, his wide, blue eyes darting frightfully between the archer and his wife next to him, to the fox kit sitting on her lap whose eyes were doing much the same.

Their eyes met for a brief moment before both children quickly turned away from one another in fright.

"Django," Lorena said, noticing her son's reaction, "Why don't you take Strong outside?"

The glare's her husband was sending towards the three foxes ceased for a mere, yet thankful, moment as he spared a glance towards their son. Seeing the face of pure terror plastered on the lad's maw, the burly otter turned back to the visitors in their home and gave a quiet growl. "Go get yer coat."

Strong nodded, practically vaulting off of the sofa and upon the rug before disappearing around the corner and into his room. After a few moments, the lad charged back past, donned in a fresh pair of breeches and a thick coat, quickly opening the front door and running outside without bothering to even close it back.

Lorena sighed, finishing the task for her son before moving back to survey her work on Rederick's neck.

"I take it your son's afraid of us?" the beast asked, his amber eyes fixed on the fire while the otterwife moved around him to get a better look at his bandage.

"It's hard for anybeast, little 'un or not, t' not be afraid o' vermin," Django scowled.

"But it's not just… vermin that he's afraid of," Lorena added, fixing a knot in the bandage where it had already become loose and turning to her husband with a glare. The last thing that needed to happen was another fight to break out in their living room. She sighed, continuing on, "He's always been like that though. Timid, I mean. When we first moved here, he didn't even want to swim in the lake because he was afraid there would be a monster in it."

"Is dere?" the fox kit chimed innocently from where he sat, his little mouth agape in shock. Rederick shot his son a warning look, the child's mouth closing instantly and his ears drooping.

Lorena smiled at him and gave a single shake of her head. "Not that we know of."

Rederick turned back to Lorena, once again fiddling with his bandage. "And you named your son, 'Strong?'"

The insult hung in the air for what Lorena counted to be only a single heartbeat before Django stood up from his seat, his grey-green eyes narrowed and fixed upon the fox. "And what d' ya mean by that?" Her husband's paws clenched tightly as he took a step towards him, the flickering flames in the fireplace and the high-pitched whirring of a boiling tea kettle in the kitchen escalating the tension even further.

Lorena stepped in front of her husband to block his path. "Django, why don't you go check on the tea? It should be ready by now," she asked him calmly.

Django didn't respond, his gaze fixed on Rederick, who looked back with indifference.

"Fine," the otter answered her simply, his whisker's twitching in agitation. Django's brow furrowed as he stomped into the kitchen, grabbing up a mitt from one of the drawers to handle the kettle. Lorena made her way beside him, her paw resting on his.

"Are you okay?" she whispered to him, reaching for a cup from one of the top drawers.

"I want them out," Django answered his wife. He lifted the kettle's spout to pour some of its contents into the cup Lorena had prepared. "They're not even thankful, they don't want t' be helped."

Lorena gave a glance over her shoulder to where the foxes were sitting. Konin gave a glance towards her, her eyes instantly darting away once they met the otterwife's. "No, they just don't want us to know that they do," she said, turning back. "They don't want to be here, Django, the same as you don't want them to, but they still know that _this_ is the only way they're going to make it through winter or get back to their horde."

"So that they can kill beasts again."

"Maybe," Lorena whispered. "But, maybe not. Django, they've had their whole way of life taken from them."

"And ya want t' give it _back_?"

"I can't just sit idly by without doing something for them. Wouldn't we be just the same?" Lorena argued.

"Aye," Django sighed, his paw leaving hers and moving the kettle back upon the stove. "Just… try t' hurry up, is all I ask."

Lorena nodded, grabbing the cup of tea and walking back into the living room where the three foxes were sitting. She stopped in front of Konin, pausing for a moment before holding out the cup to the vixen. "This is for your son, it has some herbs crushed into it that should help him get over that cold of his."

Konin nodded, taking the cup of dark liquid from her. "Thank you," she said in her soft voice and gave the cup to her son.

The fox kit took one glimpse at its contents before nearly dropping it in disgust. "Eww! I ain't drinkin' dat. It's all brown an' got little things floatin' around innit."

"Helk," the vixen muttered, her eyes shifting from him to where Rederick sat. "Drink it."

"But-"

"Drink it. Now," Rederick snapped.

Helk gave it another disgusted look before lifting the rim of the cup to his snout and taking a tentative sip of the drink. He pulled back almost instantly and made to sputter it on the floor but was stopped by a single, stern glare from his father. The fox cub choked it down, sticking out his tongue when he was through. "It tastes like tripe…" he muttered.

"I don't care. Unless ya want t' move over t' my lap instead o' your mother's, you're gonna drink it. All of it," his father ordered.

The fox cub gave it another hesitant look before lifting it back to his muzzle. With a few gags, he forced down the rest of the steaming liquid and pushed away the teacup when it was empty. "Ugh… I feel sicker now dan 'efore," Helk groaned. "Gonna make me frow up…"'

Lorena gave him a soft smile. "Trust me, it'll help you far more than you think it will." The otterwife reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a pawful of candied chestnuts, holding them out for the fox cub to take. "Here, these should help get rid of the taste. They're sweet."

Rederick gave Lorena a disapproving glance as his son took the candies from her paw. Her smile faded away as she gave a look of embarrassment back. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't realize you-"

"It's fine," he said, turning away sullenly at a glance from Django. "When are you going t' look at my shoulder?"

The sudden change in subject caught Lorena off guard for a slight moment. "Oh, I- I was just about to get to that. Sorry." Lorena moved closer to the fox until she was standing just in front of him and knelt down to his level. "Do you mind if I-"she started, pointing to the buttons of his tunic.

The fox shook his head, removing his cloak and sliding his paws over the brass buttons, undoing them one by one. He moved his paws out of the way so that she could get a better look. Sticking out from underneath the short white fur of his chest were countless pink scars, all that she assumed Rederick had collected from his many battles, and it took all of the otterwife's efforts to look away from them to concentrate on the task at paw. She forced her eyes away from a particularly long scar before folding over his tunic's right collar so that she could get a better look at his wound, her observant blue eyes flickering over its every detail.

A patch of fur was missing from his shoulder, several scraggly hairs still remaining as if it had been forcefully torn off and was just beginning to grow back, with the pale skin underneath twisted almost like a knot from where the wound had tried to heal. It looked grotesque and unnatural like the skin of a toad. She looked at it for another moment before raising her head to Rederick. "Do you mind if I touch it? To see where it hurts?"

The vermin shook his head, watching as the otterwife pressed a paw to his chest.

Lorena slid her paw closer and closer to the wound, settling on his clavicle above his chest to see for a reaction. She gave Rederick a reassuring look before turning to do the same to his mate. Konin looked back in a way that made the otterwife's paw tremble upon his chest, her amber eyes narrowed sullenly as if she were sending her a single warning. Lorena's paw pulled back from Rederick's chest.

"Konin. Stop," Rederick said gently. Lorena's gaze shot back to the fox in front of her, the beast still staring at her as he had been. He hadn't even looked away. The penetrating feeling of the vixen's stare disappeared almost instantly as she turned her head away. "Go on," the fox said.

Lorena nodded, her paw touching where it had been and gently sliding over to the knot on his shoulder as she waited for his reaction. The tips of her claws touched his visible skin and in that instant the otterwife saw his muscles tense under her touch. She hesitated; her paw hovering over the fox's wound, and took a breath, before finally pressing down gently upon it.

Rederick shot away like one of his arrows, his ever-watchful, amber eyes shut tight against the agonizing pain Lorena knew he was feeling. He panted, his claws digging into the arms of the chair he sat in. The otterwife pulled back, giving her husband a glance over her shoulder as the fox's panting slowed and he recovered.

"I need you to tell me everything that's happened, Mister Rederick," Lorena said, standing back up and moving beside Django. "Where you're from, how you got your wound, who gave it to you. Everything."

Rederick panted. "And is that going t' help?"

"It might," Lorena answered. "It depends on how much you tell me. It isn't the time for lies anymore. You don't have a spear at your neck; you have two ears willing to listen and a set of paws that _want _to help you. Start from the beginning."

Rederick groaned at the idea. "Fine," he said, letting out one last pant as he tried to think of where to start. After a moment, he began, "Me and Konin come from a horde like you beasts already guessed. It was a small one, not even worth mentioning sometime. We barely had four score beasts in it an' that's counting the whelps."

"Four score? How close is this horde?" Django asked.

"Far enough not t' worry," Konin answered him. "We were never the nomadic type. We 'ad a nice stake o' land that we were doin' surprisingly well at controlling. Lots o' birds t' hunt with a river nearby, we had no reason t' leave. An' no matter how bloodthirsty some vermin might be, nobeast is gonna march fer three straight days jest t' murder some riverdogs."

"I find that hard t' believe," the burly otter replied, a hard-pressed look on his face. "Seein' as you beasts tried t' do exactly that."

"I didn't stab ya," the vixen reminded him. "I could have, but I didn't."

The fox waited for Django's steely gaze to subside before continuing. "It was small, but it was home. We never really raided anywhere; our ranks were too small that if we even tried, a riverdog patrol would probably wipe us out, so we typically stayed t' ourselves t' avoid attention, defending our little area with what little force we had. That's when I got shot by an arrow."

"Shot? By who?" Lorena inquired, her ice blue eyes focused on the archer as he continued his story.

"Savages…" Konin muttered to herself.

Rederick nodded, his head held down as if he were trying to distract himself from something. "We didn't know much about them when they first settled on the plateaus north of here, and we never found out what name they called themselves, but they never talked or tried t' give us one. They just attacked. No warning, no provocation, no diplomacy, just blood. Our small, little horde wasn't prepared for it, so when it was over, and we eventually drove them off, the damage was already done. A few of our best beasts were slain, others… simply gone and nowhere t' be found.

"We waited a few days for any word of them, but we eventually found them: stuck upon spears or tree branches just inside the scums' self-proclaimed border, still alive, where we could watch them, our friends and loved ones slowly… bleed out and suffer and rot, where if we… if we… tried to get t' them…" Rederick said no more.

"They'd think it an act o' war an' would attack us again with no mercy," Konin picked up where he left off, giving him a glance in what Lorena could only guess to be sympathy. "It was t' get int' our heads, my father always said. Mess us up inside, try t' force our paws int' doin' somethin' stupid. He called it 'psychological warfare.'"

"They didn't care about anything but blood and making us suffer," Rederick continued. "We called them Savages."

Django snorted. "Funny. That's what we call most vermin."

"Django!" Lorena snapped at him.

Rederick glared at the otter, his amber eyes burning hot like the flames dancing in the fireplace. "What do you know about us? If you were part of an otter patrol like you said, then you've probably only seen the larger patrols, the ones _really _filled with scum. Not all vermin are wanting t' burn and pillage, you know, some vermin are just trying t' survive, and, when they're not accepted in your towns or villages because o' their species, that's hard for them t' do on their own."

"That's why we make hordes," Konin continued her mate's statement. "There's strength in numbers, an' sometimes, t' survive, beasts 'ave t' work together."

"Ya know, when they're not too busy tryin' t' stab each other in the back," Django said. "How many beasts have ya killed? Innocent ones."

Lorena changed the subject before another fight could break out. "And was this when you were shot, Mister Rederick?"

He shook his head, his gaze still half-fixed upon Django. "I was still too young t' fight when they first attacked."

"We both were," Konin said, "but, while Rederick was still teachin' 'imself how t' shoot, I was learnin' t' follow their tracks. I snuck out one night an' found a stray one on a patrol, so I followed 'im around their territory until he eventually showed me where their camp was. They 'ad a quarry near t' it, about a day's march away, I found out, filled with stones that they made their weapons out of, but the place was also where snakes called home. So, they waited until winter when the adders slept t' stockpile their weapons…"

"While, because of Konin's information, we stockpiled our defenses. We were able t' thwart off their attacks without much problem after that," Rederick said. "But then, this winter, we had just started preparing, and they swarmed us. We don't know how they got the stones from the quarry to restock their weapon supply so soon, but they had them, and we weren't ready. That's when I got shot. One o' the Savages shot an arrow at our leader and I… jumped in front of it."

"And you said that their weapons were made out of stone?" Lorena inquired.

"Aye," Rederick answered.

"Were you awake when they pulled out the arrow?"

"He was asleep for a while," his mate answered. "An' they told me t' leave when they did it."

"Hmm," Lorena voiced to herself while she thought over the scenario. "I think I know what's wrong with your shoulder."

Rederick's looked stunned. His mouth hung open and his amber eyes opened wide at the news. "What… What is it?"

"No wonder so many beasts die of infection and disease in hordes," the otterwife said to no one in particular. "Nobeast knows what they're doing." She turned back to Rederick, and began explaining the situation. "I think that when the beasts from your horde tried to pull the arrow from your shoulder, the arrowhead had gotten lodged inside. They had to yank on it harder than necessary to remove it, which damaged the inside of your shoulder even further. When they finally got it out I assume that they didn't check over their work before they closed your wound. Maybe they had other beasts to deal with, maybe they didn't care, I don't know, but I think that a piece of the arrowhead broke off when it was pulled out and… is still in your shoulder."

Lorena tried to count the heartbeats she felt pounding in her chest as she waited for a response from the fox sitting across from her. Though only a few seconds had passed, she made it to twenty when Rederick finally spoke. "There's… a piece of stone… in my shoulder?" he repeated.

"It's just a theory," the otterwife answered him. "I could be wrong."

"But, you could get it out, right?" Rederick asked. His gaze never strayed from the otterwife as he gave her his full attention. "You can?"

"I…" Lorena started, her blue eyes drifting from his for a moment and moving towards the fire which was beginning to flicker lazily. She dropped her head and opened her mouth to respond, but stopped herself. She shook her head. "No. I can't. At least not right now."

Rederick was speechless for what felt like an hour, his eyes shifting between the otterwife and his mate, the floor and the flames in the fireplace as he desperately tried to organize his thoughts. They moved back to her for a split second before immediately moving away, but in that moment, Lorena could easily see what she had seen so many times before. The true look of despair when you told a beast there was no hope. Konin nearly had the same look on her maw as she gave her mate a glance, Helk still sucking the candied chestnuts innocently and oblivious to what was happening around him.

"You… can't," the fox responded in disbelief. He stood up from his seat and looked to the floor for a mere moment before his eyes snapped back to the otterwife. "What d' you mean, you can't!? So, you just told us t' come inside, tell you our life story, and then you're going t' say you can't help me!?"

Django was up on his footpaws and glaring daggers at Rederick in a mere instant. "Don't ya dare raise yer voice t' my wife again," he uttered behind a growl. "Or I can assure ya that I'll have ya thrown out in the cold."

"Do it, it's not like we want t' be here."

"Oh, we finally agree on somethin'."

The beasts continued to argue at one another, their voices resounding across the room to the point where Lorena could barely hear herself think. She put her paws to her ears as she tried to shut out the clamor.

"Both of ya, shut up!" Konin thankfully interjected in the two beasts' argument, causing both of them to close their mouths right away. The vixen adjusted the silent and confused Helk on her lap and turned her attention to the otterwife. "Ya say ya can't help us. Why?"

Lorena breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of noise. "She turned her head to the vixen. "I think I can help you. I just don't think I can do it now," she said simply. "If I'm right, and he does have shrapnel in his shoulder, I'm going to have to cut it open if I'm going to get it out. And even then, there's no way of actually knowing if there is any or not. I could be wrong about everything. And if I am, well, I'll have cut into your husband's shoulder with nothing to gain from it.

"And that presents a problem in itself," she continued. "I could barely touch his shoulder with a claw without him leaping away from me; I have no idea how I'm going to get anywhere close to it with a knife. And even if I had my husband and you holding him down for me, I don't know if I could have him sit still enough to actually do it without him trying to jerk away. I might do more harm than good. I could cause him more pain, or even make it so that he loses use of his right arm entirely."

"You're a healer though, right?" Rederick asked. "You don't have something that you could give me, an herb or something, that could knock me out?"

Lorena paused for a moment before giving a single nod of her head. "Miracle herbs don't usually exist, Mister Rederick… but you're lucky this time." She let the silence settle for a moment before continuing with a question, "Have you heard of the Flitchaye?"

"Who hasn't?" the fox answered.

"Well, then I'm sure you know about the smoke they use and how it knocks those who smell it unconscious?" she asked. "It's an herbal compound made by burning the leaves of a flower that blooms in their lands and a few other herbs, that not only knocks a beast who inhales it out cold, but also numbs their body to pain. It was only natural that we started using it at Redwall for more serious surgeries, so we started cultivating the flower. We called it a Flitch."

"Well then, get the flower and make it," Konin demanded. "If it can help ya fix my mate's shoulder then make it. Please."

"She can't," her mate uttered, his eyes fixed on Lorena's crystal clear blue ones. "If she could, she would have done it by now." Rederick's perception was better than the otterwife had given him credit for, simply looking at her and he had already guessed the grave news.

Lorena shook her head. "I can make it. I just can't do it now. Flitch isn't just something you can find while waltzing through Mossflower, especially during winter, and I'm certain that I didn't think to bring any from Redwall when we made the move here. I never thought I would need to perform a surgery out here. And even at the abbey we didn't keep many in our storage or our orchards. The flower grows on a larger plant that also produces some small berries with it, and they're poisonous. It was too much of a risk to have it among our other fruit where a Dibbun-err, a child- might eat it without knowing what it is."

The otterwife paused as she tried to think. The only way to get flitch would be to either get it from the Flitchaye's lands, which was of course unthinkable, or to wait for it to grow. "I can get some flitch, but if I'm going to fix your shoulder, you're going to have to be willing to wait for it to bloom."

Django's head twisted towards her at once. "And how long's that gonna take?" he asked.

Lorena tried to ignore her husband's obvious accusation, keeping her eyes on Rederick as she answered the same question she knew he was thinking. "It typically blooms in the late summer or early autumn."

Django's gaze pried even deeper into her.

Rederick was quiet, his watchful eyes wandering to his wife for but a moment. Konin's mouth opened to say something but closed before any words could come out. Lorena watched as the vixen looked to the floor in dismay, turning her head to the archer and sending him what she could only guess to be a silent plea. He slowly buttoned his tunic.

"Thank you for your help," the fox said, standing up from the chair and looking to his mate and expecting for her to do the same. "We'll take what you've already given us and leave."

Lorena got to her feet and tried to stop him. "Please, Mister Rederick, I can fix your shoulder, I know I can, I just need time. Autumn sounds like a long time away, but I can help you. Please."

"I don't have until autumn," Rederick explained in a harsh tone. "You said yourself that this winter has been one of the coldest in seasons, and that we wouldn't last in it. And I can't just stay here in this house… not with how he keeps looking at us."

"Aye," Django agreed. "These beasts ain't stayin' anywhere near us. They'd take a knife from the kitchen and slit our throats in our sleep if we let 'em. Ye've done all ya can do, Lorena. Let 'em leave."

"If you need a place to stay, my husband could build you a home," Lorena offered.

What followed her statement was only silence, even the crackling of the embers in the fireplace had seemed to cease for but a moment as Django slowly turned his head to face his wife.

"What!?" His voice penetrated the air and echoed through the room. "What d' ya mean build 'em a home? Out of what? Lorena, we've helped them, ye've done all ya can… let them go."

"There's leftover lumber and stone in the basement," Lorena said matter-of-factly. "It was in case we needed to repair any damages to the house, but I don't see why you can't put it to a better use."

"Lorena, I ain't just lettin' these beasts move in next door. They're vermin," Django argued. "And don't go arguin' that they're innocent, they've killed beasts and ya can't deny that."

Rederick affirmed the otter's accusation with a nod. "Your mate's right, we have. Thank you for your help."

"Rederick…" Konin's soft voice came as a mere whisper from her open mouth.

The vulpine archer looked at his mate and shook his head. "We can't wait that long."

"I can," she muttered.

"You're not the one with the wounded shoulder," he answered her. "You're not the one who can't even fire an arrow without feeling like you're getting struck by one!"

"And yer not the one with the whelp in yer gut!" she shouted loud enough that even Django's shout paled in comparison. "I've done my fair share o' waitin', Rederick. I waited three long seasons for Helk, watchin' as you were stupid enough t' keep gettin' cut up by beasts' swords and waitin' by yer side even though our beasts told me ya weren't wakin' up, countin' the number o' times the sun set and wonderin' if they were right or not. They said ye'd stay down this time. But I didn't believe 'em.

"They called ya invincible fer a reason. It was the only thing I believed what they said about ya," she continued. "The Great, Invincible Rederick Flamepaw. 'He could get 'is head lobbed right off an' still get back up,' they said. I'd like to've believed that was true."

"They said I lost my spark too," Rederick said. "That my fire went out."

"It ain't out yet. But yer the one who keeps throwin' dirt over it like ya want it to be," the vixen answered him. "Wait the three seasons, let 'er fix yer shoulder. Then we can strut back int' the horde an' prove 'em all right about ya. That ya truly are invincible…"

Rederick was silent as he looked back to Lorena.

"Sparks can be reignited," she said. "Sometimes it just takes a little time."

Django turned his head towards her. "Lorena… please."

She gave him her attention, her ice blue eyes fixed on his. "Django, I want to help them."

"Ye've helped 'em enough!"

"No, I haven't," she replied. "Some food and lantern oil isn't going to make them survive the winter. Not with how cold it's been."

"Why…? Why won't ya let 'em…"

"Because at Redwall we were taught to value life," Lorena replied to her husband, "no matter what kind o' beast they are. Maybe in the patrols they didn't teach you that, but at the abbey we didn't let beasts throw their lives away. We helped them when they needed it and hoped they'd return it in kind." She paused for a moment to give a look back to the vulpine family. "I'm going to help them, whether you like it or not. So, I'd prefer you… help _me_."

Lorena turned her head back to her husband. Reflected off the placid surface of his eyes, she could see what he saw: her brow furrowed in anxiety and the rims of her eyes laced with the beginnings of a tear in each. The look of anger on his face faded in that moment. "Ya said those days were over."

"Django," she said, "please…"

"Autumn?" he asked.

"Or late summer," she answered optimistically.

"Do ya promise? No longer?"

The otterwife nodded.

Django gave a look to the foxes in his living room then back to his wife. She gave him a faint smile. "Fine," he said, "they can stay until autumn. After that, I don't care if ya can't fix 'im or not, I want 'em out. Deal?" Lorena nodded. He turned to Rederick. "That is o' course, ya do stay."

"Rederick," Konin said, Helk watching his father expectantly from her lap. "It's only until autumn. And then we can go back."

Lorena watched as the archer gave his mate a glance and then turned back to Django, his sight fixed on the burly otter. "And you don't have a problem with this? Three vermin, living next door t' you… for three seasons."

"Ya won't be livin' next door," Django answered him. "You'll be livin' across the lake. And if ya so much as test my patience, vermin, I'll have ya back out in the cold in a heartbeat."

"No, he won't," Lorena refuted. "I swear, he won't bother you here. It'll give you a chance to rest and recuperate before the surgery so that you can get your bearings again, then you can get back to your horde and… live again."

The otterwife ignored the look she received from her husband as she gave Rederick a smile. He gave Konin another glance as he waited for her reaction. She mouthed the word, "please."

"We'll stay," the fox said, grabbing hold of the front door handle. "Thank you." He gave a glance to Konin, who lightly pushed her son off of her lap and got up from her seat. She gave a nod of thanks to Lorena before moving beside her mate, her paw moving to rest upon his on the door handle before she leaned her head upon his left shoulder.

"And, if you have any problems, pain, a cough, anything. Please, let me know," Lorena called to them. "I'll help you anyway I know how."

"We won't need it," Rederick answered her.

The fox pushed open the door, its frame swinging open and forcing Strong to jump back to avoid being hit by it from where he had been leaning against it and obviously eavesdropping. Rederick gave the otterlad a glance before sliding past him and back outside, grabbing up his bow from where he had left it outside and sliding his quiver back onto his back.

"Strong, get inside!" Django commanded, his gaze sending a warning to Rederick.

Lorena watched as Rederick's gaze followed her frightened child as he scurried past him and behind her skirt, his amber eyes now resting upon her face. It wasn't strung, but there was no telling how many thoughts she knew were running through her husband's head at how close the fox had been to their son with his bow. She turned her head towards him in response, Django's blank expression almost impossible to read.

"Here's another rule for ya, fox," Django finally said to him. "Stay away from my son. Because if ya go anywhere near 'im-

"You'll kill me?" Rederick replied cynically.

"I ain't vermin," Django answered. "I'm about t' make a home for beasts I don't like because my wife asked me. I might not kill ya, but sure as the tides, ya won't be gettin' any o' the help that we promised ya, and I'll have ya out in a heartbeat. And she won't stop me."

"And how are ya going t' do that? Rush us with that spear again?" Rederick asked. "I _am_ vermin, and if you raise that spear t' my mate or my son again, I'll have an arrow in your neck. How's that for a rule?" The fox gave a curt nod in Lorena's direction before turning away; grabbing his son's outstretched paw and yanking him out of the otters' home. Django stepped forward and closed the door on them, letting them out in the cold once again.

The dwindling flames in the fireplace flickered as they desperately hung on to life, the sizzling embers the only sound as Django spun away from the door to face his wife, his eyes so much like the once roaring fire.

Before he could say anything, Strong peeked his head from behind Lorena's dress. "Dad," he began, "who were those beasts?"

Django's gaze turned to him, his expression softening. "Remember wot I told ya this mornin' about how monsters didn't exist." His son nodded. "Well, I was wrong. Because that's wot they are, lad: monsters."

**-.-.-.- -.-.-.- -.-.-.-**

Lorena rolled over in her place on the bed, listening to the sound of crickets chirping from outside the window to her back. Django did the same, refusing to look at his wife. From his position, the otterwife knew he could easily see the three foxes huddling around a roaring fire they made with the lantern oil across the lake, its pale orange glow the only source of light in their dark bedroom.

"Why?" he said quietly.

"Because I wanted to help them," she answered simply. "Do I need another reason, Django?"

"No, not that." She felt him roll over away from the window to where he was facing her back. "Ya had that look in yer eyes… when they were about t' leave," Django said. "Ya know what I'm talkin' about. It was that same look they all had: that desperate look. I thought ya told me those days were over, Lorena… or are ya gonna start hittin' yer head on walls again…"

The otterwife felt the touch of his paw trace over the top of her forehead tenderly. She answered him softly. "Those days _are _over, Django."

"We left for a reason, dear. T' get away from that… that… look in yer eyes," he replied.

Lorena turned to face him. "I know their names. I know their faces," she said. "I couldn't just leave 'em t' freeze in the cold or be picked off by a vermin who _isn't _injured. I know why he didn't want help at the beginning now… bandages would have just made him look weak out there, but I wanted to help them, to save them, because I don't think they deserve to die, Django. They've had their entire way of life taken from them by a single arrow."

"But what if ya can't save 'em? Ya said yerself that ya could be wrong about that fox havin' shrapnel stuck in yer shoulder," he argued. "What if there isn't? What are ya gonna do then, huh? Tell 'em that ya can't help them after they've waited here for three seasons?"

"I don't know, Django!" she cried. "You don't think I haven't thought of this!?" She couldn't help the well of tears that were beginning to spill down her face, wiping them off almost shamefully with the sleeve of her nightgown. "Thank you," she said, "for letting them stay."

"Ya know I'd do anythin' for ya, dear. I'm gonna build those beasts a home after all," he said. "Stop cryin', we left t' get away from that, I don't want t' see ya like this anymore. Ya look better when you're smilin'."

Lorena gave a weak chuckle in response.

"But, Lorena," he continued. "If ya do help him, if ya can fix his shoulder. What's gonna stop that beast from firin' arrows into each one of our necks? Once ya fix 'im, he won't need us anymore."

"You called them monsters," Lorena said. "I'd like to think that they're better than that."

Django rolled back over to face the window, the fire outside still glowing strong as the silhouettes of the three foxes moved to position themselves for sleep around it. The otter frowned. "Let's hope yer right."


	6. Good Fences

**Hello, everyone. I apologize for the long delay once again. I've actually been having a lot of chances to write lately, it's just I've gotten into a slight emotional rut as of late and with it has came a pretty severe case of writer's block and procrastination. I hope to get that cleared up soon though and get some chapters finished for some quicker updates. **

**In other news, if you haven't noticed, I used my tablet and a drawing program to give this story some cover art and I'd love to hear some feedback on it. It's just a sketch right now, but once I'm more comfortable with my tablet and the program, I'll probably update it with a colored version. Tell me what you think :)**

**Special thanks to: Blackish, Thomas the Traveler, Free Thought, Saraa Luna, Quaver Ava, and Jade TeaLeaf for reviewing. My last fanfiction had 32 reviews at its tenth chapter, so it feels really good to have amassed more than that with only half that amount of chapters. Thanks a lot you guys for all bearing with me and for your support :)**

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**Good Fences:**

-Chapter 6: Good Fences-

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"Breakfast is ready! Come and get it while it's hot!"

Django didn't know whether it was the volume of his wife's shout or the wafting aroma drifting into the upstairs bedroom from the kitchen that truly woke him up, but, whichever it was, the promise of food was enough for him to ignore the impulse to bury his head further into his pillow and drift back into unconsciousness. The otter's stomach rumbled as he forced himself out of bed, blinking from the intense midmorning sunlight coming through the window as he moved over to his wardrobe and hastily threw on a tunic and a pair of trousers. He let out a weary yawn as he made his way downstairs, moving behind his wife from where she was leaned over the stove and stirring a mixture within a pot and placed a gentle kiss behind her right ear.

Lorena gave a glance behind her shoulder and smiled. "Oh, you're up?" she said with a snort. "I thought I'd have to call a third time."

"A third time?" Django asked, watching as his wife ladled a spoonful of honey into the mixture. "That was the second?"

She nodded. "Aye, I guess you slept right through the first. But, that's understandable, I suppose. You didn't even come to bed until past midnight last night and you missed supper. With how much you've been working, I'm honestly surprised I didn't have to go upstairs and wake you myself. What was taking you so long?"

"There were a couple o' cracks and holes in the wall I 'ad overlooked that needed patchin' up. And, o' course, Red insisted that he help me fix 'em up. The beast can't even bang a hammer without almost keelin' over like a drunken sailor, and yet he kept tryin'. Probably would have gotten home sooner, but me and Konin had t' keep makin' sure he was alright." The burly otter moved away from behind his wife and pulled a cup from one of the upper cabinets, pouring him some mint tea from a kettle Lorena had prepared. "What time is it?" he asked when he finished gulping down the contents.

"A few hours past dawn," Lorena answered him. "I tried to cook a late breakfast so you had more time to rest. The Fates know you need it."

Django gave a solitary nod, glancing in the direction of the living room window where he could see the small, wooden shack standing vigil on the other side of the lake, a mound of wooden planks, nails, and stones in a pile nearby. It had taken the work of nearly four weeks but the small cottage- if it could even be compared to something as good and comfortable as a cottage- was nearing completion. And with Rederick unable to do any heavy lifting, it had been him and him alone to do most of the work, the otter having worked his paws nearly to the bone from constantly lifting and placing stone and timber, bashing in nails, and using everything he had learned from raising his own home to make it actually livable for the vermin family.

The building was good for one thing at least: it had finally given Django something to keep himself busy with, his boredom from having completed his own home disappearing almost entirely from his new task. But with only the little help Rederick could provide, most of the work, and the exhaustion that came with it, fell upon the otter's shoulders and it had become rare that he _ever_ made it to the table for supper at all. Sleep had become the only relief for the riverdog, his single respite from the labor of that day, and by the time Django finally slid into his place beside his wife in their bed, he was already unconscious, his usual schedule of being awake by dawn ignored as he caught up on his much needed rest.

"What's for breakfast?" Django asked.

"Nothing too exciting: porridge with honey and scones topped with damson jam," his wife answered him, ladling some of the mixture she had been stirring into three separate bowls. Django moved to help her set the table, grabbing up the plate of scones and the silverware and moving them to their respective positions on the dining room table. The midmorning sunshine seeped in through the window, making the bottles on the cabinets shine with a brilliant sheen, the framed canvas inscribed with the Riverdeep's family mantra watching the two otters from its place on the wall as they took their seats across from one another.

Django took a knife and spread the lilac-colored jam over a scone he had carefully selected from the plate at the center of the table. "Where's Strong?" he asked, setting the scone onto his plate.

"Still outside," Lorena answered him, pouring herself a glass of tea. "He was almost finished with his chores, so he wanted to get them done before he came back in."

Django gave a nod in approval. "Good lad," he said just as the front door of their home swung wide open with a clatter. The door was slammed shut as suddenly as it had opened, the riverdog turning around from his position just in time to see his son hurriedly move behind him and take a spot at the table, his paws already reaching across the table for one of the many scones in the center.

"So, did ya shovel all the snow?" Django asked.

"Uh-huh," the otterlad said from behind a mouthful of scone, nodding his head before reaching for a spoon. "There ain't much. Lot o' it's melted already."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Strong," Lorena chided. "It's rude."

He swallowed. "Yes, ma'am. Sorry."

"Well, if you're already done, then I'm sure ya wouldn't mind helpin' me across the lake today," Django said after swallowing a spoonful of porridge.

Strong leapt to his own defense instantly. "But, all the snow is almost melted! An' the ice 'as all broken off. Me an' Brushy were gonna see if the water was warm enough t' swim today…" he complained. "Pleeeeeeease?" his son asked him, his tiny paws cupped together in a pitiful show of begging.

Django shook his head. "Not today, lad. I need somebeast like you who's small enough t' get on that beast's roof without breakin' through it. We gotta make sure there's nothin' that still needs t' be fixed an' you're the perfect beast for the job."

"But don't _they _'ave a kid too?" Strong protested. "Why can't ya get him t' do it?"

"Because I'm not askin' him t' help me, I'm askin' you," Django answered his son sternly. He let out a sigh. "Strong, there's a time for work an' a time for play, an' right now, it ain't playtime. I think ye've been doin' a great job lately at pullin' your weight around here, so I think ya can help me over there for at least a day."

"But, I-"

"Strong," Lorena patiently said for her husband, stopping anything other complaints the child could muster from his mouth.

"Strong, do ya know what the first rule of bein' a warrior is?" Django asked.

"No, sir," the young otter mumbled.

"It's obedience," the burly otter answered for his son. "So, if yer gonna join an otter patrol someday and be a warrior like me, yer gonna have t' start doin' as you're told, because no patrol is gonna want a reckless beast who doesn't follow any orders. That's just a surefire way t' get yerself thrown out or killed. And don't ya want t' be a great warrior an' make me and yer mum proud?"

Strong didn't say anything, merely nodding in response as he picked at the food on his plate.

"What's there left to do, Django?" Lorena asked, changing the subject.

"Not much," the otter answered his wife. "They still need a front door and some furniture, but that's about it. All we have left t' do after that is simply check over it all t' make sure there's not anything that needs t' be repaired, which is where Strong comes in. T' be honest, we probably could've been done by now, if Red would just sit down and rest. Not t' mention the fact that his wife finds somethin' new t' ask for every day. 'We need this… or this…' It's like she thinks I'm buildin' 'em a castle. We barely even had enough wood for what I _was_ able t' make."

"Well, Django, they didn't even have anything of their own except for the clothes on their backs and a few weapons," Lorena tried to explain. "I don't think it's wrong that they ask for a few favors every now and then."

There was a knock on the door at that moment, the quiet rapping upon its wooden frame reverberating through the otter's ears. He gave a quiet sigh and wiped his snout on a napkin before standing up from his seat.

"Every now and then…" Django said contemptuously.

The otter turned the doorknob, not surprised when he saw Konin awaiting him patiently on the porch.

"Django," she acknowledged softly, one of her black-hilted daggers in her belt making a distinct _chink_ as she shifted her weight to a different footpaw.

"Konin," Django answered her. "Is your husband ready?"

"He ain't my husband, he's my mate," the pregnant vixen corrected him. With a glance over her shoulder at their home, she answered him with, "He ain't home. Rederick said his shoulder wasn't botherin' 'im very much this mornin', so he took Helk and they went huntin' for woodpigeon."

Django had come to hate the word 'hunting.' It seemed that every time the fox's shoulder stopped troubling him for even a moment, he grabbed up his brat and his bow and left on some hunting trip through the woods around their homes instead of actually bothering to take advantage of his temporary respite and help the otter with building his house. And it was almost always a waste of time as they typically came back unsuccessful. His son could barely hit the broad side of barn and Rederick could still only pull back his bowstring only so much without nearly collapsing, after all, except for the few times they had gotten lucky and carried home a single dead woodpigeon in their disgusting, bloodied paws.

The otter couldn't hide his grimace as he replied, "well, when are they gonna be back?"

"They've already been gone for a few hours, so they shouldn't be much longer," Konin answered. She paused for a moment as she seemed to ponder over her next choice of words, just as she always did right before she asked him for some favor. "Rederick wanted me t' come over here," she finally said. "He was wonderin' if he could borrow yer axe."

Django wasted no time in answering her. "I'd prefer ya not. I can give ya firewood if ya need it.

"Ya afraid we're gonna split ya in half with it or somethin'?" Konin sneered.

"The last time ya borrowed my axe, you were tryin' t' steal it," the otter mentioned. "What I'm afraid of is that ya won't give it back."

The vixen snorted in response. "It's not like ya couldn't just come over there an' take it back if we did."

Django rolled his eyes. "What do ya need it for?"

"Rederick wants it for the furniture."

"Are ya sure havin' yer… mate swing an axe around with his condition is a good idea?" the otter asked.

Konin gave another glance over her shoulder as if she were making sure Rederick wasn't there watching her. "No, but it's not going t' stop 'im from tryin' regardless. He'd either complain or insist that 'e could do a better job than ya."

It was true that Rederick had actually surprised the otter when it came to his woodworking talent. While he hadn't been able to do much of the heavy lifting or even help in the actual building, the fox was good at simply overseeing the operation, making sure measurements were correct and that the whole thing wouldn't simply topple over if hit by a simple gust of wind. Even when the pain in his shoulder had become too much for the vermin to bear and Django forced him to sit down and catch his breath, he always did it with one of his mate's daggers and a block of wood clutched in his paws, carving at it until it was something else entirely: a flower, a bird, a fox, it was always something different. It probably wouldn't take much effort for the fox to make better furniture than he could, and any opportunity to stop having to help the fox family was enough good news for the otter.

"Fine, take it," Django said with a sigh. He pointed towards the side of his home. "It's where it always is."

"Thank ya." Konin gave a nod and looked over her shoulder once more. Django followed her gaze to the two orange shapes appearing from the woods across the lake. "They're back," the vixen said simply, turning to walk in the direction the otter had pointed.

She paused before rounding the corner. "And Django… thank ya."

"Ya already said that."

"Fer everythin'," she reiterated, her head was held down as she distracted herself by staring at something in the snowy ground. "I know ya haven't wanted t', an' I know yer wife's been practically forcin' ya t' help us, but… ya've been helpin' my mate, no matter how much 'e's hated it, an' fer that I thank ya. I'm glad… I'm glad I didn't stab ya is what I guess I'm tryin' t' say."

"I just hope it stays that way."

Konin replied with only a simple, "Aye," and without another word, she turned the corner and was lost to his sight.

"What did they want?" Lorena asked when he returned to his seat at the table.

"Konin asked t' borrow the axe. She said that Rederick was gonna make the furniture 'imself," Django explained as he grabbed another scone from the tray. He gave a look to Strong sitting next to him. "Ya hear that, lad? Maybe you'll get t' test the water today after all if we get done early enough."

Strong practically leapt out of his chair and sprinted to the door. "Well, what're we waitin' for?" The young otter stuffed his arms into the sleeves of his coat and slipped on his boots, his paw already on the door handle.

"Now that's the kind o' enthusiasm I wanted t' see." Django snickered. The otter stood up from his seat and looked to his wife. He took a step towards her.

Lorena got up from where she sat and met him halfway, letting him wrap his arms around her and pull her into a short kiss. When the otterwife pulled away and it was over, Django noticed that she was smiling. It felt good to see her happy again.

"We'll be back before sundown," he said.

"Be careful," Lorena answered him.

"What am I gonna do, hit my paw in with a hammer?"

She chuckled. "You've done a lot worse with a lot less."

"Like how we met?"

Django watched his wife chuckle before she nodded her pretty head. "Aye, like that," she replied. She waved him off with a paw. "Go. I'll have supper ready when you get back."

The burly otter gave his wife one more smile before turning to where Strong was waiting patiently by the door. "Lead the way, lad," he said as he wrapped a scarf around his neck and pulled on his own coat and boots.

Together, Django and Strong made their way around the edge of the Cliffside towards the other side of the lake where the Flamepaws' home had been set, Strong remarking the whole way excitedly about the possibility of testing the water and the coming warmth of spring.

Rederick sat waiting for them on the steps leading to his porch, slivers of wood laying at his footpaws from where he had been carving another one of his sculptures. The fox sat it and his brass-hilted knife aside as he stood up and pulled his cloak closer around his body.

"Mornin'," Django called out to him. "Ya catch anythin'?"

"No," Rederick replied simply with a shake of his head as he sat away his woodwork and stood up from his postition. "Would have though, had my brat decided t' not step on every branch he saw. Probably scared away every pigeon in the whole damn forest."

Django shot the fox an accusing glare and gave a nod to his son next to him.

The fox gave a look to the younger otter."The. Whole._ Damn_. Forest," Rederick repeated clearly enough for him to hear.

The burly otter clenched his teeth as he struggled not to grab his son's paw and march him home before giving the fox a piece of his mind. It took all of his patience to stay rooted where he stood and merely give Rederick a sullen glare. The vermin gave a snort and smiled.

"Well, then," Django said, getting an idea in his head as he stepped towards Rederick's left side. "I guess we both should go on ahead an' get t' work, don't ya think, Red?" With a stretch of his paw, the burly otter gave the fox a hefty strike for motivation across the back of his right shoulder.

Rederick jumped forward from the obvious pain and clutched at his shoulder with his free paw, glaring daggers at Django who smiled back roguishly. "Aye, I guess we should," the fox snarled.

As the otter's smile faded, he crossed his arms and gazed at the vermin's home.

Having been built in only the course of some four week's worth of work, Rederick's home was just a rickety shack, an eyesore compared to his own across the lake. On the outside, it was nothing more than a wooden, rectangular building with a tall, hastily-assembled stone fireplace jutting out of its flat roof, and, with no skills in making windows, Django had had to make do with mere holes in the walls, concealed by thick window shutters that the family could open from the inside. The door- really just a slab of thick lumber with a piece of rope for a handle- leaned unceremoniously against the wall next to where it was supposed to be placed. On the inside, it was barely three rooms: the main living area was connected to the kitchen and dining area as a single room with a feathered mattress and blankets that Lorena had kindly donated along with an array of old pots and pans sitting beside the stone fireplace inside, and a short hallway led to a separate bedroom for their son.

Asides from the missing door, there wasn't much to do, much to Django's relief.

Rederick's ears perked as Konin made her way past Django and moved beside him, the otter's axe held in her paw. The fox gave a glance to the blade and back to the riverdog. "Thank you," he said.

"Don't kill yerself with it," Django retorted.

"I'll make sure 'e doesn't," Konin replied.

The otter nodded. "Good. Then let's get this over with."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The sound of Strong banging a hammer on the roof was all Django could hear as the otter made his way once more around the outside of Rederick's house, checking every wall to make sure there were no more holes or breaks in the wood that needed to be patched up. It had taken the work of a few hours, but from what he could see everything had been taken care of.

"See anything?" Rederick said from where he sat on the porch with his knife, out of breath as he watched his son play in the snow.

Django shook his head. "Just the door's left." The fox glanced over his shoulder to where the slab of wood sat. Before he could make a move, the otter stopped him. "I can get it."

"So can I," Rederick replied, getting to his feet and stuffing his knife into his belt.

"Ya had t' sit down because ya kept hurtin' yerself. Ya can't even bang a hammer;" Django said, "how am I supposed t' think ya can put in the door?"

"I'm not useless," the fox answered him with a snarl. "I can put in a damn door."

"Fine then," Django replied with a huff. "Do it. Put in the door."

Rederick grabbed the heavy piece of timber from where it was sat and did his best to lift it. For the otter it would have been a menial task, his muscles could easily take the weight of the door and it would have just been a simple job of lifting it and putting it into its place on the hinges, but for the injured fox, it was as if he was attempting to lift a boulder. His face contorted, his teeth clenched from the effort, as he struggled with the load, his right, orange-furred arm quivering from the pain.

Django moved to help him but was stopped by a growl from the fox.

"Don't you dare!" Rederick snarled. "I can do this myself! I ain't useless," he grunted as he almost stumbled. Panting, the fox's grip tightened around the door to the point of where his claws began digging into the wooden frame.

"Rederick…" Konin tried to say.

"I AIN'T USELESS!" With a final surge of strength, Rederick's teeth clenched into a snarl as he lifted the door and practically slammed it into place. The fox fell to his knees and panted in exhaustion. "Told… you. I… wasn't… useless. I ain't."

"Ya shoulda let me help ya," the otter said.

"I didn't… need it," Rederick answered. As his panting slowed and his arm quit quivering, the fox slowly got back to his footpaws. "Do you have any nails?"

Django nodded, grabbing up a set of nails and a hammer. "Ya want me t' do the honors?"

"I can do it," the fox said, snatching the tools from his grasp. Django watched Rederick carefully twist open the door and slip inside before sliding it back into place. With the hammer and nails, the archer managed to fasten the door's hinges to the wall without collapsing, to the otter's relief, and pushed it open. It swung open until Rederick stopped it, pulling it back shut. He repeated the motion three more times before he was satisfied and wiped his brow with his left paw, letting the tools slip from his grasp upon the floor.

"Works like a charm," the otter said to him with a smile. The fox merely nodded in response, still out of breath. Django looked towards the roof. "Strong, ya almost done up there, lad?"

"Uh-huh!" He heard his son call from the roof. "Help me down."

Django followed his son's voice to where the lad sat with his footpaws dangling over the edge of the roof. The otter got his son back on the ground without much trouble, making his way back inside the Flamepaws' home. He looked around the dark, dusty room. "Not bad," Django said to no one in particular, "not bad for how quickly we 'ad t' make it, don't ya think? Strong, why don't ya open up a window, let some light in here?"

The otterlad did as he was asked, pushing open one of the window shutters and letting the room flood with bright light.

"Aye, much better." Django turned to where Rederick stood with his mate and child by the fireplace. "What d' ya think? Think it'll do for a few seasons?"

Rederick gave a nod. "Aye." The fox gave a glance to Helk and motioned him onward with a paw. "Go get it and be careful with it." The younger fox ran off down the hallway to his room.

Konin flashed him a brief smile. "Thank ya again," she said as their son returned, carrying something in his paws. The young fox handed the object over to his father.

"Aye," Rederick said as he took a step forward and held what was in his paws out for the otter to take.

It was one of his wooden sculptures, carved into the likeness of Django and his family, all standing in a circle and holding each other's paws. He spun the statue over in his paws, staring at each individual otter in awe. Everything about each one was there: Lorena's thin and delicate claws, her pretty face with just as pretty of a smile, clad in a dress and apron that fluttered in the breeze, to Strong's long rudder and the small squirrel-doll that lay at his feet. Even his own model was carved into his exact likeness. Django blinked as he looked away from them for one moment to look at the circular pedestal they all stood upon, his family mantra "the Riverdeeps are as proud and strong as their tails are long," carved in elegant swirls around its edge.

"Can I see?" Strong asked with wide eyes.

"Aye, lad, be careful with it." Django passed the statue to his son and watched as he had nearly the same reaction as he had had. The burly otter turned to where Rederick still stood. "What's this for?"

"Payment," Rederick said simply. "At least part of it."

"Payment?" Django repeated. "For what? If this is about us helpin' ya… We don't want payment, Red, my wife just wanted t' help ya. Ya don't owe us anythin'."

"You've given us oil for fires t' keep ourselves warm, blankets, beds, food. You've built us a house. And you're going t' look at my shoulder and try t' give me my life back," Rederick stated sullenly. "All you've done is help us, and I hate feeling like I'm in debt t' somebeast, least of all a woodlander. So just take it. I'm tired of looking at it anyway."

"Alright," Django answered him. "But only because ya already made it, alright? I don't want t' see more statues an' sculptures appearin' on my doorstep just because ya think yer in debt t' us. My wife doesn't want payment. She only wants t' help because she can."

"Fine," Rederick said, sitting down upon the feathered mattress. He gave a sigh.

Strong looked up from his examination of Rederick's sculpture at that moment. "He even got Brushy!" he squealed excitedly to his father.

"Aye, he did," Django said. "And what d' ya tell 'im?"

With a gleam in his eye, the young otter put on his best smile for the fox. "Thank ya, Mister Red'rick," he said. Django gave a look to his son in satisfaction, but his expression changed to that of confusion as he watched Strong's smile slowly fade from his maw. "Are you bleedin'?"

Everybeast looked back to Rederick. Upon his white shirt was a crimson bloodstain, just barely visible with how he was wearing his cloak over top of it. The fox glanced down at it before pulling his cloak over further over it. Konin was next to him in a moment.

Django took a step back away from the sight of the blood. "Are ya alright?" he asked, slowly stepping back towards the fox. "Is that from liftin' the door? Do I need t' go get my wife t' loo…" He paused as he was almost right upon Rederick, his green eyes locked on the bit of blood that he could still see from beneath the cloak. He didn't seem like he was hurt anymore, and it was where his left shoulder was, not his right. It also looked dry as if it had been there for some time, at least a few hours. "That ain't yer blood... is it?"

"Woodpigeon," Rederick answered him, giving a look to his son. "Helk managed t' shoot one while we were out hunting. I guess I got some of the blood on me."

"Aye," Helk said. "It was a small 'un. An' dere was blood eve-ever-ever-"

The fox continued for his son. "Everywhere," Rederick said, looking back to the burly otter. "Helk made a bad shot. He got one, but it fell through some trees and by the time we got to it, it was too mangled and dirty t' even be worth eating, not like it would have been much meat anyways with how small it was."

Something about their story didn't add up, and, as the otter realized what it was, he instinctively glanced behind him for the exit, as if the vermin would leap at him with their knives any second. "I thought ya told me that ya didn't even shoot a single bird," Django said.

"No, I didn't."

"Aye, ya did, before we started workin'."

"No, I didn't."

"Aye, I remember ya sayin' that ya hadn't shot anything."

Rederick rolled his eyes. "Well, what I meant was that we hadn't shot one worth eating."

Django stared at the fox disbelievingly and watched as Konin tried to get a better look at the stain on her mate's shirt, both of her black-hilted daggers glinting in the sunlight from their place in her belt. The otter looked to the brass-hilted knife sheathed into Rederick's belt. Over the four weeks that he had been working on the Flamepaws' home, he realized he had never seen that knife before.

The otter reached for his son's paw, his eyes still locked upon Rederick's. "Come on, lad, I'm sure yer mum's got supper almost ready." He took Rederick's statue from his son's paws, and practically yanked the lad towards the exit. "Thank ya for the gift," he called back to the fox.

Rederick nodded before calling back to him. "You said your wife didn't want payment for helping." He paused for a moment before adding, "What do _you_ want?"

Django could have responded with so many different things: for the vermin to go to Hellgates where they belonged, for them to leave him and his family alone, or at least for them to stop lying for once. "What I want is for ya t' not t' kill us in the end," Django ended up saying, casting a knowing glance at the blade in Rederick's belt. "Nice knife," he added before grasping his son's paw.

Without a look back, Django pushed open the front door and stormed out of the foxes' new home, practically yanking his son along with him. About halfway across the lake, he slowed his pace and let go of Strong's arm, turning to look at him while they walked.

"Strong," he sighed. "Remember what we talked about earlier about obedience?"

Strong looked to his father and gave a nod. "Why?"

Django paused and knelt down to his son's level, giving a look over his shoulder at the rickety shack. "'Cause it's important that ya obey me now, ya understand?" He waited for the young one to nod before continuing. "Those beasts. They ain't good beasts. Monsters, remember? Listen t' me when I say, don't go near 'em, don't talk t' 'em, don't even look at 'em, understand?"

"But why?" his son asked.

"Because I asked ya to," Django answered him. "Because I'm afraid that they might hurt ya if they get the chance."

"But they didn't seem that bad…"

Django sighed and ruffled the fur on Strong's head with his paw. "None of 'em ever do, lad."

He gave a look back to the shack, watching as its door opened and Rederick strode outside, grabbing up the otter's axe from where it was leaning against the wall. The beast turned his head and looked exactly to where they stood, watching them. Django was sure their eyes met.

While Redwall Abbey had its walls to keep the dangerous vermin out, Django didn't have the materials to make something so grand or large. But, if he was going to protect his family, he at least still had what he needed to make the next best thing.

After all, there was only one thing that made a good neighbor…

…and that was a good fence.

* * *

**This wasn't one of my favorite chapters to be honest, though I am rather fond of a few certain moments in it. I'd love to hear your thoughts and critiques, hopefully they'll all be enough to get me out of this rut and get me the inspiration I need to get my updating schedule back to speed. Until next time- Airan.**


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